


Father of the Groom

by GSJwrites



Category: Glee
Genre: Community: klainebigbang, Klaine, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:04:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GSJwrites/pseuds/GSJwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong></strong><img/> </p><p> </p><p><b>Title:</b>      Father of the Groom<br/><b>Author:</b>  Girliesportsjunkie (GSJWrites)<br/><b>Betas:</b>     iconicklaine, sillygleekt<br/><b>Artist:</b>     buckeyegrrl<br/><b>Rating:</b>    Soft R<br/><b>Word Count:</b> 28,754<br/><b>Warnings:</b> A blink-and-you'll miss it reference to Finn Hudson.<br/><b>Summary:</b> Burt Hummel struggles with caterers, in-laws and the idea of letting go when his son comes home for spring break with something extra in tow — a fiancé. Inspired by the 1950 film, Father of the Bride, and its 1991 remake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> It was last winter, and I was about to take a lunch break from working in the backyard when I turned on the TV just in time to catch the start of the 1991 remake of Father of the Bride, the one starring Steve Martin. I hadn't seen the film in years, and the next thing I knew, my half-hour lunch break had consumed half the afternoon.
> 
> At the end of the movie, all I could think was: Burt Hummel. I messaged iconicklaine, who gave me a great tip: You think that was Burt Hummel? Watch the original version with Spencer Tracy.
> 
> I did, and I might as well have been watching the buildup to what at that time seemed like a remote possibility: a Klaine engagement. Indeed, Spencer Tracy was the 1950s Burt Hummel. The fact that Elizabeth Taylor played the daughter only made the connection stronger. At some point, I was going to write this thing.
> 
> Fast forward to the Klaine Big Bang, announced just around the time that I was posting the end of a lengthy multi-chapter fic. It seemed like a perfect summer project, and there weren't a lot of Klaine wedding stories out there at the time. Fast forward again to the start of Glee, Season 5, and the Klaine engagement and the subsequent deluge of wedding fics that ensued.
> 
> What I'm trying to say is that without a supportive circle of friends and collaborators, I very well may have given up on this project, and nearly did a couple of times. I don't writes tropes, and I try to do things that I don't see everywhere. The canon engagement nearly sunk engagement AU. 
> 
> It was also supposed to be a light and fluffy wedding fic, and it largely is. But thanks to some insightful feedback, my eyes were opened to issues that our guys might face on the way to the altar that are rooted in the fact that their ability to marry is still very new, and they are without wedding traditions of their own. Thanks, Annie. That was an eye-opener, and a valuable lesson. That being said, I make no pretense that this is intended to be serious social commentary. It's a rom-com, pure and simple, and an AU. The Kurt and Blaine of this story are only ever-so-slightly rooted in canon.
> 
> My deepest thanks to a wonderful team who make me look better at this than I actually am:
> 
> iconicklaine, who knows how to ask the right questions to get you thinking about character and direction from different angles;  
> sillygleekt, whose eye for detail and commitment to precision are invaluable; and  
> buckeyegrrl, who goes to such great lengths to create just the right look for her cover art. I love it!
> 
> My gratitude also go out to knittywriter and justusunicorns, who always have great ideas for songs, dialogue and moments. 
> 
> To each of them, and to each of you for taking time out to read this, my thanks.
> 
> — Girlie

_I want to say something about weddings._  

_I used to think they were simple. Boy meets girl. Boy falls for girl. He buys a ring. She buys a dress. They say, “I do.” They have babies. Their babies have babies, and so-on and on._

_But I was wrong._

_That’s called getting married. A wedding’s something else entirely._

_I know._

_I’ve just been through one._

_Not mine, my son’s — Kurt Hummel-Anderson. That’s his married name — Anderson._

_I’ll be honest with you. When I bought this house 10 years ago, it probably cost less than this event in which Kurt Hummel became Kurt Hummel-Anderson._

_My wife Carole tells me that some day I’ll look back on this day with affection and nostalgia._

_I hope so._

_You fathers should understand. You’ve got a son — he’s your only child — an adorable boy who looks up to you and loves you in a way you couldn’t have imagined. You dream of playing catch in the backyard, of teaching him to throw a spiral, of taking pictures of him in his tux on the staircase before his first prom._

_It doesn’t always work out that way._

_I remember how his little hand used to fit in mine, how he’d hold it so tight after his mom died. And I remember the dance classes and tea parties where I was clearly her stand-in, because she wasn’t there to see our son grow up to become the man he is today. It wasn’t exactly what I expected when the doctor first told us we’d had a boy, but it didn’t matter, not a bit._

_Then the day comes when he wants to meet his friends at the movies, and suddenly he wants you to drop him off a block from the theater._

_Next thing you know, he’s wearing these tight pants and clothes made by some guy whose name you can’t even pronounce._

_From that moment on, you’re in a constant state of panic._

_First, you worry how the world will treat him. Then, when he proves that he can handle it and then some, you worry about the people he hangs around with. You worry about him going out with the wrong kinds of people — boys who only want one thing from him_  

_And you know exactly what that one thing is, because even though you and your son see the world a little differently, some things never change — and it’s still basically the same thing you wanted when you were that age._

_Then he gets a little older, and you quit worrying about him meeting the wrong guy and you start worrying about him meeting The Right Guy._

_And that’s the biggest fear of all, because then you lose him._

_And before you know it, you’re sitting all alone in a big, empty house wearing glitter on your tux, wondering what happened to your life._

_It was just four months ago that it happened here, just four months ago that my world turned upside-down._

_* * *_


	2. The Announcement

_Kurt had been going to school in New York, studying musical theatre at the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts, and spent a winter semester in London. He missed the family holidays, but stayed in touch. I heard from him every few days, and got all the details of his life in another country — the shows, the museums, the people._

_Or so I thought._

_It wasn’t until he came home for spring break that we realized he had left out one important detail._

 

 

* * *

“It’s okay Dad, you don’t need to pick me up at the airport. I’ve got it covered,” Kurt said, touching base with Burt the night before flying home for spring break.

“Now, how are you going do that? Not a cab, I hope. I can get out there over lunch and you can bring me back to the shop and have the car the rest of the day to go catch up with your friends,” Burt protested. He had planned all along to pick Kurt up at the Dayton Airport. He enjoyed the long rides in the car with Kurt, had since he was a kid. It was during those drives that he often learned more about his son and what was happening in his life than in a year’s worth of hurried or canceled family dinner nights.

“It’s fine, Dad. A friend is picking me up. I’ll see you as soon as you get home.”

Kurt had never turned down a ride before, and Burt felt a little let down, but didn’t think much of it beyond a passing sting. He knew Kurt had friends in town he would want to catch up with. It would be no surprise that one of them would offer to pick him up.

When he finally got home, Burt could tell instantly that his son was home and already at work doing what he did best — altering his intake of calories and cholesterol.

From the hallway, he could hear Kurt and Carole working in the kitchen, clanging pots and giggling over their inside jokes. The aroma drifting in to the living room was unlike the usual Hummel-Hudson dinner fare. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but Burt was certain it was the scent of some leafy green being roasted or steamed to within an inch of its life.

He had always been pleased that his son got along so well with his stepmother, but he had a genuine fear that they had become co-conspirators in Kurt’s efforts to change Burt’s perfectly satisfactory eating habits.

“Dad!”

It had been nearly six months since Kurt had seen his father on anything more than a computer monitor — longer than his usual absence — and son embraced father as though the separation had been years rather than months. Burt returned the affection with a patented bear hug.

They had always been close, despite differences as detailed as a DNA strand. The father in flannel, the son in McQueen. The older generation wistful for simpler times, the younger embracing the possibilities of a bright and unfolding future and a world that accepted him for everything he was, and could be.

“It’s good to have you back, even if it’s only 12 days,” Burt said, taking his time before releasing Kurt from his hold. “It’s not quite the same without you around here to hound me about Omega-3s.”

“Good to see you, too, Dad.”

They caught up over dinner, strangely swapping their usual roles. Kurt, usually the chatty one, listening to his father and stepmother, nodding and smiling, occasionally looking like his mind was somewhere else entirely. Burt filled in the gaps with stories about the garage’s upkeep during his frequent absences and his frustration working with “those yahoos in Washington”. Carole chimed in with local gossip and news about Kurt’s former classmates.

He smiled. He nodded. He ate his Brussels sprouts.

Burt asked about school. Kurt responded with polite but noncommittal words.

“Oh, you know, I pretty much filled you in on the phone. It’s going well. Rachel’s ego has to be reeled in from time-to-time, but otherwise, it’s good.”

From somewhere under the edge of the dining table, a cell phone buzzed.

Kurt reached down and pulled his phone from his pocket, glancing quickly at the screen.

“I’ll take this upstairs,” he said, dashing off.

“You know how I feel about cell phones at dinner, Kurt!” Burt yelled fruitlessly after him.

“So, what do you think’s going on?” Burt said, turning to Carole.

“He’s a little distracted...”

“A little?!?” Burt’s forehead creased in frustration. His lips curled into a grimace. His eyes narrowed. He didn’t like what he was seeing, and it showed all over his face.

“It’s his first day back. He’s probably just trying to connect with his friends,” she said in her most soothing tone.

Burt harrumphed, and went back to his dinner. Nearly ten minutes later, Kurt drifted back down the stairs as if he was hardly aware he had left, and placed his phone in his pocket as he sat back down at the table.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“Ok, so what’s up, kid?”

“What?”

“What’s going on? What aren’t you telling us?”

Kurt looked up and gave a little half smile, then raised his eyebrows slightly as he gulped down the last of his grilled fish. He pushed the rest of the food around his plate and then started to collect his place setting to take to the kitchen.

“Kurt, what’s going on?”

“Can I be excused? I have to be somewhere in a bit.”

“Come on. You look all... all, lit up inside or something. Not that I’m complaining, but it’s not your normal look, like ‘How did I end up here?’ Got anything to tell us?”

“I’m supposed to be meeting up with a friend in a little while, Dad. Can we just?”

“Fine, fine, go.”

Kurt collected his plate and silverware and headed to the kitchen. Moments later, he was scaling the stairs to his room in record time.

Carole rose to start clearing the table. “Really Burt, what was that about?” she asked, her tone hushed.

“Didn’t you see him? He’s all wound up. He’s not telling us something.”

A sly smile crept across Carole’s face. She shrugged.

“Maybe he’s in love.”

“What!?!”

“I said, maybe he’s in love. Did you see his face? He kept smiling to himself, all through dinner. And he kept checking the clock.”

“He would have said something.”

“Maybe he’s not ready.”

“Not ready? This is my son we’re talking about. What _doesn’t_ he talk about?”

“Burt, think about it. Kurt’s usually nothing but talk. But tonight, he was drifting off and smiling and watching the clock and I’m telling you, _he’s in love_. And I’ll bet you that’s who he’s off to meet.”

“But who? It’s not that Sam kid, is it? Has Finn said anything?”

“Well, I don’t know. Finn hasn’t mentioned anyone. Maybe it’s someone new.”

Kurt came stumbling down the stairs at breakneck speed, nearly running Burt down in the process.

“Kurt, hold up!”

Burt was not about to let his son out that door before he got to the bottom of this.

“Slow down, just for a minute. I want to talk to you.”

Carole cleared the table, giving father and son a moment to talk.

“Dad, I really have to...”

“Just a minute. Come sit down.”

Kurt followed him, reluctantly, into the living room. He grudgingly planted himself on the couch. Burt pulled up a chair so Kurt had nowhere to look but into the concerned and somewhat judgmental face of his father.

“Something’s going on and I’d like to know what. You’re acting kinda strange tonight. So come on, spill. What’s up?”

Kurt looked down at his hands and played with something on his right hand — a ring. Then he smiled to himself.

“We were going to tell you tomorrow.”

“What’s that?” Burt asked, pointing at the ring.

Kurt met his father’s eyes, his face beaming. “It’s a placeholder.”

Burt’s face crinkled in confusion.

“A what?”

“It’s temporary, until the permanent one.”

Burt’s eyes narrowed in silent concentration, until Kurt’s voice pulled all the clues together, leading Burt to a moment of stunning recognition that his life was about to change.

“Dad, I met someone.”

The statement was met with stony silence, and a less-than-perfect poker face.

“We met in London, during winter break. But he’s from here. He’s an American. He was part of the study abroad program. He goes to NYU, and he’s from here, from Ohio.

“At first, we just hung out together. We had so much in common. Then we started seeing each other and we fell in love and...”

“Kurt?”

“You’ll like him, Dad. He’s smart and he’s caring and he’s so talented and handsome and...”

“Kurt?”

“I’m engaged!”

Burt’s face was frozen in shock. The two simple words left him stunned into silence.

“We’re getting married!”

Carole, who had clearly been eavesdropping, rushed into the room and swept Kurt up into her arms.

“Congratulations! Tell us _all_ about him!”

Burt’s face remained expressionless, as it had from the moment Kurt had said “I met someone.”

“What’s his name, sweetheart?” Carole asked.

“His name is Blaine.”

With that, Burt found his voice again.

“Blaine?!? What kind of name is that? What does he do?”

“He’s a theater and music major at NYU. He’ll graduate in June. He’s originally from Westerville. He went to Dalton Academy. Can you imagine? He was a Warbler.

Remember them? We competed against each other at sectionals my junior year and we never met until we both went to Europe.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Dad?”

“You’re too young to get married. I won’t allow it.”

“Burt, he’s an adult,” Carole said, using her most soothing tone.

“Like hell! How long have you known this boy? Four months? And why haven’t I heard about him until now?”

“He’s not a boy. And I’m nearly 21. That’s almost as old as you were when you married Mom.”

“Well, that was different. That was then. Sorry, kiddo. This ain’t gonna happen, not yet.”

“I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. I know this seems sudden, but sometimes, you just know. I was hoping you’d be happy for me.”

“I’m glad you’re happy. I’m glad you’ve found someone you like...”

“ _Love_. Love, Dad. I love him.”

“If you love him, then it wouldn’t kill ya to wait a while.”

“I’m getting married, Dad. I love him. He’s my future. And when you see the future that you’re meant to have, you want it to start as soon as possible.”

Carole looked over at Burt, and gave him a look that made it clear that Kurt had won over at least one person in the room. Burt wasn’t so easily convinced.

“You’re not even out of college, Kurt. How ‘bout you date him for a while and think about it?”

Kurt said nothing, but set his jaw in a look that Burt learned years before meant his son had made up his mind and wouldn’t be easily swayed.

“I’ve got to go. Blaine’s waiting for me.”

Kurt made a quick move to the hall closet for a coat and grabbed his keys off of the end table.

“Burt, you’d better come to your senses and apologize before he runs out of your life and marries that kid with or without your blessing,” Carole warned.

Burt looked at Carole and stood up, huffed out an exaggerated sigh and went after his son.

“Kurt? Wait.”

Kurt stood at the closet door, refusing to meet his father’s eye.

“I want to meet this kid.”

“He’s not a kid.”

“I want to meet him.”

“Blaine.”

Burt took a breath, and softened his voice. “Yes, _Blaine_. I’d like to meet Blaine. Tomorrow, dinner.”

Kurt nodded, and opened the front door.

“Don’t wait up.”

 

 

  
* * *


	3. The Fiancé

The doorbell rang at precisely 6:29 p.m. Burt gave Carole the eye, and she darted around him to open the door before he could do it himself.

They were greeted by an attractive young man who could best be described as _petite_ , looking GQ-dressed and schoolboy-self-conscious. He carried a small, fashionable bouquet of spring flowers and looked to be doing his best to control his nervous energy.

“Hello, I’m Blaine Anderson,” he said, extending his hand and smiling the smile of a matinee idol. “You must be Mrs. Hummel. These are for you.”

“These are just lovely, thank you! And please, it’s Carole. It’s so nice to meet you. Why don’t you come on in and make yourself at home, Blaine.”

He was dressed in what looked to Burt like his Sunday best: tailored heather gray slacks, a white dress shirt with a dark blue and green striped tie, and a coordinating slim-fitting cardigan. His hair was short and gelled, and he looked like a class president — or a student arriving for his first job interview.

He looked like a prep school grad.

“Mr. Hummel, it’s very nice to meet you, sir. I’ve heard so much about you from Kurt. I feel like I already know you.”

“Anderson,” Burt said simply, shaking his hand in acknowledgment.

“How are you, Blaine?” Carole asked quickly, trying to warm the room after Burt’s chilly reception,

Blaine leaned in towards her slightly.

“Nervous,” he said quietly.

“You’ll be just fine,” she whispered. “How about some iced tea?”

The sound of a herd of Doc Martens stomping down the stairs filled the room as Kurt ran to meet Blaine in the hall. Kurt swept into his arms, placing a soft kiss on his lips and holding him close.

“Blaine!” Kurt exclaimed.

“Hello, you.”

They kissed again.

Burt grimaced.

“Am I glad to see _you_ ,” Blaine whispered during their embrace.

“You’ll be fine,” Kurt said, taking Blaine’s hand and turning toward Burt. “Dad, this is Blaine. Blaine, Dad. There, done.”

“Not so fast. Anderson and I are going to have a little chat. Kurt, go help Carole in the kitchen.”

Kurt’s expression signaled that he was clearly put out, and Blaine looked like a deer caught in headlights — fearful of the oncoming traffic and frozen with fright. Kurt gave his hand a squeeze, kissed him on the cheek and whispered. “Don’t worry. The bark is worse than the bite. It’s okay. He’ll love you, but he’ll want to scare you first.”

Blaine gave him his best _don’t leave me alone here_ look, his forehead creased and his eyes pleading, then watched Kurt walk off to the kitchen. He closed his eyes briefly, as if seeking balance, then met Burt’s glance.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Blaine?”

They sat across from each other, Burt in his easy chair, Blaine on the edge of the couch.

“I’m going to assume that Kurt didn’t tell you about us before yesterday,” Blaine said, wringing his hands.

“You would assume right.”

“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Hummel. Everything went so well with my parents and I told him that he needed to tell you. This isn’t the sort of thing that should be a surprise.”

“No, it shouldn’t. He’s met your folks?”

“Oh yes, a couple of times. They visited us in London, and they come out to New York from time-to-time. You know — meetings, theater tickets, checking up on the son.”

“Hmm.”

 _Westerville_ , Burt thought. _Parents with money and kids with issues._

“So you don’t know much about me.”

“Until yesterday, I didn’t even know you existed.”

“And you probably think we’re too young.”

“Correct again.”

“And that we haven’t known each other long enough for a step like this.”

“I’d say you’ve pretty much got it covered.”

“And Mr. Hummel, all of that is true. We’re young, and we haven’t spent the years together that some couples do before they marry, and

I’m sure there are going to be challenges and problems and complications. But I love your son. He’s like the piece of me that was missing and I didn’t even realize it until I met him. I’ve never known anyone like Kurt and whatever problems we face, I know that we can face them together, and when you know something’s right you don’t want to waste any time getting the rest of your life started.”

“Nice speech.”

“It’s from the heart, Mr. Hummel.”

 _This guy has too much polish_ , Burt thought. _It’s the smooth-talking ones, the ones with the manners. Those are the ones you can’t trust._

“First, slow down. Tell me about yourself. You’re graduating with Kurt? How do you plan on supporting yourself?”

“Technically, I’m finished. I met my requirements at the end of winter quarter, but I’ll graduate with Kurt.”

“And then?”

“I’m taking some filler classes this semester, but mainly I’m going to concentrate on my job.”

“Doing what?”

“I just got a role on a soap opera. It’s not my dream job, but it’s steady work, a recurring character, and a good paycheck. I also teach music.”

Burt thought back to Kurt’s years of weekly piano lessons, of evenings listening to Chopsticks and Für Elise. “Teaching kids scales?”

“Mostly teaching adults Mozart. I’ve been doing it for years, Mr. Hummel. I think I had my first student when I was in high school. And she was a little kid who practiced scales, yes.”

High school. That’s right, the prep school.

“I thought you went to prep school.”

“Dalton Academy, yes sir. At least for most of high school.”

“You left?”

“No sir. I enrolled my sophomore year, right after I got beaten up at my first high school.”

“You what?”

“Beaten, um, bullied — for being gay. That’s when my parents enrolled me at Dalton.”

Burt paused. The words hit his gut like buckshot.

“I’m sorry.”

“I got a good education, and my parents felt I was safe there. I was safe there.

“Look, Mr. Hummel, I know this news probably came as a shock, but I want to assure you how sincere I am about marrying your son.

We’re different in a lot of ways, but we’re also so alike in ways that matter. We complement each other. And I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with him.”

It may have sounded like a clichéd fiancé speech, but for some reason, Burt was beginning to buy it.

“Dinner’s ready!”

Carole carried a platter of roast chicken and vegetables to the table, followed by Kurt with a salad. Blaine clambered to his feet, offering to take the platter off her hands and to help arrange the table. Once everything was settled, he walked over to Carole’s place and pulled out her chair for her.

She beamed.

“So Blaine, tell me how you two met,” she said, smiling and serving.

“We actually met last fall,” Blaine started.

“At the advisory meetings for the London study abroad,” Kurt added.

“We didn’t think much of it at the time,” Blaine said, looking intently at Kurt.

Kurt’s face softened. “We had coffee once or twice with some of the others in the group.”

“It was on the plane to London,” Blaine said. “We were seated together, and really started talking, and realized that we grew up not far from each other, and then that our glee clubs had actually competed against each other at Sectionals, but we’d never met in Ohio.”

“We played tourist together for our first few days there,” Kurt piped in. “And then one night we were walking past Trafalgar Square...”

They looked at each other again, and Blaine reached over and took Kurt’s hand.

“The next thing I knew, Kurt’s hand was in mine,” he said, finishing Kurt’s sentence.

They looked at each other like no one else existed.

Carole sighed.

Burt took a bite of chicken.

“Pass the potatoes, would ya?”

The dinner continued amid talk of Europe and school and soap operas, Blaine starting a sentence and Kurt finishing it. Burt largely stayed silent, nodding along from time to time.

“Kurt tells me you’re going to be on _Days of Our Time_ , Blaine. Back when I was working nights, I’d watch it every afternoon,” Carole said.

“Now it’s all over the DVR,” Burt said without looking up.

“So, tell us about your character!” Carole said almost breathlessly.

Blaine looked down at the table self-consciously and gave a half-smile. “It’s really kind of silly,” he said.

“Come on, Blaine. Either you tell them or I do,” Kurt said, taking his hand.

“It’s Ridge Rockwell. See what I mean? Silly.”

“ _Doctor_ Ridge Rockwell,” Kurt added. “See Dad? I’m marrying a doctor.”

Blaine rolled his eyes. So did Burt.

“I love the soap opera names,” Carole said. “They always seem to say something about the character. So, Dr. Rockwell. Is he a good guy or a bad guy?”

“To be determined, but apparently he’s a womanizer,” Blaine said. “He sleeps with two different nurses his first week on the job.”

“Oh!” Carole exclaimed.

“Oh?” Kurt said, this detail apparently having been omitted from prior discussions of Blaine’s new role.

“It’s all kind of ridiculous, and such an awkward way to get to know people, but it’s a steady paycheck.”

“Well, I think it’s wonderful, Blaine. Be sure to tell us when your first episode runs so we can record it.”

“You record all of them, Carole,” Burt said. “Can you pass the salad dressing?”

“So is this a full-time job, Blaine? Will it take up all your time?” Carole asked.

“It’s hard to tell since he’s a new character, but if he goes over well, well then I may get a chance to appear more often... But that’s the goal, right? I consider myself pretty blessed to have a regular acting job right out of college.”

“He’s just being modest,” Kurt said. “Blaine’s very talented.”

“Whatever happens, I told Kurt that we need to make sure we try to visit Ohio as often as possible — and you can bet we’ll visit on home game weekends in the fall,” Blaine said.

Suddenly, Burt’s hearing was more acute.

“Hmm?”

“Blaine loves football,” Kurt said offhandedly. “I like intermission.”

“Half-time,” Blaine whispered, reaching below the table to give his knee a squeeze before redirecting his attention to Burt. “Yeah, I’m a Buckeyes fan.”

“Oh, Burt loves Ohio State, don’t you Burt?” Carole said, sensing an opportunity.

Burt looked at Blaine for a moment, then nodded.

“Maybe we could go to a game sometime,” Blaine said. “My parents have season tickets in the alumni booster section.”

“That new quarterback’s got a decent arm,” Burt said.

“He’s just a little slow on his feet. He’s got to throw from the pocket,” Blaine said, diving into his dinner.

Kurt looked at Carole. She gave him a knowing wink.

“Have you two made any wedding plans yet? Have you set a date?” Carole had a way of circling the subject back to marriage, just as Burt had gotten to a topic he could dig his teeth into.

“Well, we had been thinking about a late summer wedding in New York,” Kurt said, looking at Blaine.

“We looked into it,” Blaine said. “It’s just too expensive for us right now. We’ve checked and it doesn’t matter if it’s a hotel or a club or a restaurant, it’s just too much. So we thought we’d go to the courthouse, and then maybe throw a party afterwards.”

The boys looked at each other for a few moments, clearly reliving uncomfortable conversations about money and guests and budgets and _howarewegoingtoaffordthis_ , and ended it with soft eyes and gentle smiles, an entire conversation said without words.

“Blaine, it’s getting late and we really need to...”

“What’s going on?” Burt said, shaking himself out of his dazed state.

“We’re going to the movies and if we don’t leave soon, we’re going to miss it. Blaine?”

Kurt got up from the table, cleared their plates and grabbed his keys. He gave Carole a kiss on the cheek and headed for the front door, Blaine on his heels.

“Hey, Kurt — don’t you think you should take a coat? It’s a bit chilly out there tonight,” Burt said. It had been an abnormally cool day, with darkening skies warning that showers may be around the corner, but Kurt was headed out in a short-sleeved shirt and jeans.

“Oh, Dad, I’m kind of warm. It’s fine.”

“I don’t know, Kurt. It is pretty cool out and the sky looks a little threatening,” Blaine said.

Kurt looked at Blaine and did an about-face for the hall closet, retrieving a black pea coat. Blaine held it out for him, helping to pull it over his shoulders and giving it a quick brush of his hands to smooth out a slight wrinkle. He then placed his palm on the small of

Kurt’s back while he opened the front door with his other hand.

“Better?”

“Much,” Kurt said, smiling to Burt and Carole. “Thanks for dinner. Don’t wait up!”

And with that, he was gone. Silent seconds passed, Burt scowling and Carole beaming. She couldn’t hide her joy at the introduction of Blaine Anderson, fiancé.

“Oh, he’s a keeper! Isn’t it exciting to have a romance right under our... right in our midst? They’re so sweet together. And have you ever seen Kurt this happy?”

“It’ll never last. He’s too agreeable. Kurt’s much more spirited than this kid. He’ll eat him for lunch.”

“Did you see how they looked at each other?”

“I saw how he groped Kurt’s leg when they were sitting at the table.”

“He touched his knee. Really, Burt. You’re objecting to _that_?”

Burt huffed.

“Oh sweetheart, did you see how they look at each other? They’re so in love. And Blaine’s so well-spoken and polite. Did you see how he pulled my chair out for me?”

Burt offered only a side-eye in response.

“Did you hear them when they talked about the wedding plans? Burt, that broke my heart. They deserve a real wedding. There has to be something we can do.”

“I don’t even know what the rules are for this. I mean, if Kurt was a girl, we’d be expected to pick up the tab, right? But it’s two guys, so I don’t know how this works, but they seem to want to handle it themselves.”

“They shouldn’t have to,” Carole said firmly. “Blaine’s only just gotten his first job, and they’re not even out of college yet. We should help.”

“What we should do is butt out.”

“What we should do,” Carole said, stepping up to Burt, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close, “is host a wedding.”

 

 

* * *

_That evening, I realized my day was over. I knew Kurt was gone — Kurt had given over the keys to his heart to some boy I didn’t even know. Some prep school kid with a Pepsodent smile and good manners and a habit of touching my son when he thought no one was looking._

_He sat there that night and said “I’m going to marry Blaine.” But who was this guy? We didn’t know a thing about him, not a thing._

_Yet he walks in and smiles and we give him Kurt. Sure, he’s a good-looking kid. I get the attraction. And he’s charming and talks well. But it’s the silver-tongued ones you have to watch out for._

_Yet both Kurt and Carole had fallen hard for this guy. And once Kurt made up his mind about something, well, it wasn’t likely to change._  
 _Kurt was no longer my little boy. He was the fiancé of an actor in a soap opera, and there was nothing I could do about it._

_The deed was done, and a few days later, the engagement still on, Carole and I would find ourselves on the road to Westerville to meet the Andersons._

 

 

 

* * *


	4. The In-Laws

_The invitation arrived the next day, by courier no less, an embossed card from the House of Anderson._

 

 

_Dr. Thurston ‘Don’ Anderson_

_and_

_Mrs. Elizabeth ‘Bitsy’ Anderson_

_Invite you to join us at our home for brunch_

_Sunday, April 14, 2013    *   Noon_

_Westerville. The land of big houses and bigger egos. Not part of my district. Probably a good thing. If Ohio had a Beverly Hills, it was Westerville. Westerville was old money — established households with entrenched views on the world._

_It was also where my son’s fiancé had grown up and gone to private school. Carole said I should be glad for that. It was clear that she considered Blaine Anderson a “catch”._

_But an invitation? By courier? Overkill, the Westerville way. I suspected that we were about to get a pretty good idea about this boy who wanted to marry my son._

 

 

 

* * *

“Haven’t these people heard of just picking up the phone?” Burt said, inspecting the custom linen card stock and scratching his head.

“Thurston and Bitsy,” Carole repeated, holding back a minor eruption of giggles by biting her lip. “Oh _my_.”

“Thurston. Now where do you get ‘Don’ from that?”

“Sweetheart, if you were named Thurston, you’d probably call yourself ‘Don’, too,” Carole said, kissing Burt on the cheek and touching his shoulder. “Be sure to put it on your calendar.”

Four days later, they were slowly driving along the manicured, tree-lined streets of Westerville, a two-hour drive from their Lima home and a world away from their modest neighborhood.

It was everything Burt remembered it to be from the occasional campaign stop to help out a neighboring political ally who was trying to break through the other party’s longtime stranglehold on the quaint old community.

The town, a suburb of Columbus, was best known for its northwestern neighborhoods, tree-lined and waterfront, dotted by historic storefronts and elegant mansions that had been in the family for generations. They dripped of money and Ivy League credentials, often preceded by years at the local prep school, Dalton Academy.  
Dalton Academy, the alma mater of one Blaine Anderson.

It was odd, Burt thought, that a Dalton alum would end up in theatre arts. But then again, not a lot of his Congressional colleagues had sons training for a career on Broadway either.

“Which one is it?” Burt asked, craning his head over the steering wheel to try to read house numbers hidden behind walls of ivy.

“I think it’s the big one,” Carole answered.

“They’re _all_ big ones, Carole.”

“There it is,” she said, unfazed. “Number 501 — behind the gate.”

“Of course,” Burt said.

He pulled their sedan into the driveway and up to a security post, where he pushed a button that he hoped would open the heavy iron gates.

They were greeted with a video screen that reflected their images, and the voice of a woman on the intercom.

“Hello? Congressman Hummel? Mrs. Hummel? Just a moment and we’ll buzz you right through.”

The gate opened to reveal a lush, manicured landscape wrapped around a circular driveway. The house — no, mansion — wasn’t among the oldest in Westerville. Instead, it had the look of a relatively new home custom-designed to replicate the feel of the historic mansions — without the inconveniences of old plumbing and heating.

“This isn’t a house. This is an estate,” Carole said. “How did such a humble boy grow up in an environment like this?”

Burt took in the site and grunted. The front door opened and the Andersons emerged, Ozzie and Harriet style, grinning like a couple from a 1960s sitcom. They stood side-by-side, Dr. Anderson in a crisp Oxford shirt and chino slacks, his wife in a trim tailored dress. His hair was swept back to country club perfection. She was a petite, raven-haired beauty.

The home looked like it jumped off the pages of _House Beautiful_.

“Well, hello!” Dr. Anderson greeted them brightly. “Congressman Hummel, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“Burt. Please, call me Burt. This is my wife, Carole.”

“Nice to meet you both. I’m Don and this is my wife, Bitsy.”

Introductions made, the Andersons led Burt and Carole through the foyer to the formal living room, the side tables and baby grand piano adorned with bouquets of white daffodils and bright yellow forsythia.

“How about a toast to the happy couple while brunch is being prepared?” Don asked, reaching for an ice bucket that had already been set out with a bottle of Moët &

Chandon and four champagne flutes.

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Burt, despite his natural skepticism of the marriage, the mansion and the Anderson lifestyle.

Bitsy filled the glasses, each one precisely three-quarters full, and Don raised his flute for a toast.

“To the happy couple,” Don said, raising his glass. “And celebrating their choices, no matter where it might lead them.”

Carole caught Burt’s eye. He was not amused, but he raised his glass along with the others. “To the happy couple,” he repeated.

“We absolutely respect our son’s right to marry,” Don said, as if starting a speech.

“Oh, yes, absolutely. We just want him to be happy,” Bitsy echoed.

Burt nodded, and sipped at his drink.

“And our boys clearly seem very happy together.”

“That they do,” Burt said cautiously.

“Though I must admit I’m concerned for their future, what with both of them wanting to be actors,” Don continued. “I mean, I know our Blaine has talent — the music and whatnot — but I was really hoping he would follow me into medicine instead of the performing arts like his brother. We hoped it was just a passing fancy. He really is an outstanding student and could have had a serious career.”

Burt and Carole looked at each other briefly.

“His brother?” Burt asked.

“Cooper,” Bitsy said. “He has quite a career in commercials in Los Angeles. I think Blaine saw that and just decided...”

“Of course, Blaine is absolutely stuck on this idea about New York, for some reason,” Don interrupted.

“Well, he did get that role on _Days of Our Time_ ,” Burt said.

“Yes, that,” Don said. “He did get a job, at least.”

Bitsy leaned in toward Carole. “He’s such a handsome boy,” she said. “The camera loves him.”

“But he had so much promise in school,” Don continued. “I thought he would continue with a serious education. But I guess this makes him happy. It is about happiness, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Burt said cautiously.

Don, already near the bottom of his flute, refilled their glasses.

“And they do seem to be happy.”

“Yes,” Burt repeated.

“But they are just so determined to be married, and so soon,” Don said.

“Oh, Don!” Bitsy said. “Please. This is a nice sociable lunch, for the parents to get to know each other.”

She turned to Carole. “That’s so important, don’t you think?”

Carole nodded in indeterminate agreement, smiling and raising her eyebrows.

“You know, it looks like brunch is ready to be served. How about we take it out on the veranda? It’s such a lovely day.”

They migrated to the porch, a social perch overlooking the countryside and a garden beginning to bloom with spring flowers. An outdoor dining set had been set with a floral arrangement and place settings, along with a brunch of quiche, lobster and salads. More wine sat, chilled and ready, at the table.

“Burt, I know your stance on this issue, and I just want you to know that we’re behind our sons’ right to marry whomever they choose — 110 percent,” Don said, uncorking the wine.

“That’s terrific,” Burt said.

“I mean, this wasn’t the future we envisioned for Blaine when he was a boy. He was always bright and talented, and we knew he was drawn to the arts, but we didn’t know about... well, about...”

“His sexuality?” Burt prompted.

“Um, yes... until he started high school. When the trouble started, and we enrolled him at Dalton. We should have done that from the start, I guess, but we thought public school would keep him grounded and give him a chance to experience the world.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“He was very young when he told us he liked boys. We wanted to give him time to be sure.”

Burt felt Carole’s eyes on him, and decided to keep his mouth shut. These people would soon be relatives, and he’d promised Carole he’d behave. Instead, he took a long sip of the freshly-poured Riesling.

“Of course, after a few years had passed, we knew this was his path and we support him completely, and Kurt’s a delight. Such a bright young man, and he seems to make our son very happy.”

“Yes, they do seem to love each other very much,” Carole said, watching Burt carefully.

“But I have to say, I’m a little concerned about how fast this has played out, and whether they really know what they’re getting into.”

Thurston Anderson, MD had finally said something that connected with Rep. Burt Hummel, family man.

“You think so, too? I was just telling Carole that I don’t understand why they don’t date a little longer.”

“It’s such a short engagement,” Bitsy chimed in. “That usually only happens when someone is, you know... _pregnant_.”

“Well, that’s not a worry here, dear,” Don added, sipping at his wine. “I think it’s just all their excitement over the gay marriage laws being passed. Now that it’s legal, they want it — now.”

“True. This feels a little rushed, but a lot of people have been waiting a long time for marriage equality,” Burt said. “I think it’s understandable if it motivates couples to get engaged.” Burt couldn’t believe what he was saying. His reaction to Don Anderson was to make a case for Kurt and Blaine to be married. He took another drink, hoping to slow down the thoughts spinning in his head.

“Oh, of course! And I’m not saying they shouldn’t marry — someday. This just feels awfully sudden.”

“Don, I couldn’t agree with you more that it has happened fast, and that speed certainly wouldn’t be my first choice for my son’s engagement. But I will say this. I know my son. He’s strong-willed. He also doesn’t jump into things without thinking them through first. So this engagement? I take it seriously, and I’m sure that Kurt does, too — and nothing is likely to change his mind about it.”

Don nodded his head, and stirred at the Waldorf salad on his plate.

“Blaine is just the opposite. He’s a very bright kid, but he can be impetuous. When he gets something in his head, he tends to act on it very quickly. That’s one of the reasons I’m concerned.”

“One of the reasons?” Burt asked.

“They’re just very young,” Don said. “There’s so much ahead for both of them. And people change with time.”

“And you think they’ll change... _how_?”

“I think I know what you’re inferring Burt, and that’s not it. I’m just saying that people change and marriages fail.”

Burt swallowed the rest of his wine in one gulp, and reached for the bottle for more. Carole tried to delicately block his hand, but he would have nothing of it.

He refilled his glass and pulled himself forward in his seat, much as he would on the House floor when he was concentrating on Congressional testimony, or at family dinner night when Kurt was inspired to tell him about his week.

“Don, I think we’re both going to have to come to terms with the fact that our boys intend to get married. And as Carole said to me last night, the big questions are how and when. They apparently were going to try to host a wedding themselves in New York, but it was just too expensive.”

“Yes, I know,” Don said. “I told them that they needed to take responsibility for their actions, and that included the cost of a big wedding if that’s what they wanted to do.”

It was Carole’s turn to look like she was about to implode. Ever since news of the engagement had broken in the Hummel-Hudson household, she had been planning ways to host or pay for the nuptials.

Burt could see it building. It was subtle but unmistakable, and he’d had ample experience learning to spot the signs that Carole was about to let someone have it — politely, professionally, definitively.

“Don, I understand that you want Blaine to stand on his own two feet, and I respect that, but let me ask you something. If you had a daughter in college and she had just gotten engaged, would you tell her to pay for her own wedding?”

Dr. Thurston “Don” Anderson was silenced, at least briefly. He looked at Bitsy, then to Burt, and finally back to Carole. He lifted his glass, took a sip and cleared his throat.

“That’s different,” he said.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Carole said.

“I think it’s obvious.”

“Maybe you can explain it for us,” she said, not budging an inch.

“There are traditions,” he said. “The bride’s parents pay for the wedding.”

Burt had heard enough. “Let me get this straight. If Blaine had been a girl, you would have paid for the wedding. But because he’s a guy, marrying a guy, you tell him to pay for it himself?”

“It’s uncharted territory, Burt. I’m just saying that it’s a bit difficult to determine what our role is supposed to be here, so I think that the boys need to handle that.”

“But they haven’t even graduated college yet,” Carole said.

“Maybe it will make them re-think this rush to the altar.”

Bitsy Anderson sat silently through the exchange, looking at her wine glass and avoiding eye contact.

“Bitsy, you can’t agree with this. I saw how excited you were about the wedding. Don’t you want to help your son?” Carole pleaded.

The perfectly petite, perfectly polite doctor’s wife, silent and supportive until now, finally spoke up in a tone that unexpectedly took on authority.

“Carole, I love my son. _We_ love our son, and we support him, we do, even if it doesn’t sound how you expect support to sound. People see this neighborhood, and Dalton, and they think, ‘silver spoons’. We’ve always made Blaine earn everything. It made him stronger, and he needed that. You ask what we’d do if we had a daughter getting married, but it’s not a fair question, because that daughter wouldn’t have been beaten up for dating a boy.

“Kurt’s told us he was bullied in high school, but he didn’t end up in intensive care,” she continued. “That’s why Blaine went to Dalton, after all. He didn’t start there. It wasn’t about status or community or prospects. It was to protect him when public schools wouldn’t. It gave him the chance to rebuild his confidence.

“Now, he wants to jump into marriage so young, just as he’s starting his career. And this is all brand new, at least here in Ohio. It’s easier when you have traditions to fall back on, Carole, and there are none here. So we advised him to stand on his own two feet. We turned to the way we raised our son, and I think he turned out pretty well.”

Carole nodded. “He did, Bitsy. He did.”

“You see, Burt, it’s not that we don’t support our son, or Kurt,” Don added. “But not everyone in the world does. And sometimes, it pays to be prudent. We’re just saying that if they want to take this dramatic step so soon, then they should consider the consequences, and own their choice. Because not everyone is so accepting of two men marrying each other.

“We’re not monsters, Burt. We just don’t want to see him hurt again.”

The four parents looked at each other, and with little more to say, Burt stood up.

“Thank you for the lunch, and I’m glad we got a chance to meet, but Carole and I need to be on our way.”

Carole stood up and took his hand. They started toward the door, but then Burt stopped and turned around.

“I understand what you’re saying, but I also have a son who has been planning his wedding day since he was six years old, and if you don’t mind — and if the boys approve — we’re going to host this shindig.”

 

 

 

* * *


	5. The Engagement

_It didn’t take much to convince the boys that they didn’t need to be married at City Hall. And if they planned a summer wedding, they could be married here in Ohio where a lot of their friends would already be home for summer break._

_Of course, that wouldn’t put the brakes to this supercharged engagement, but at least we’d be a part of it. And while maybe it wasn’t the wedding Kurt had always dreamed of, it’d be a helluva lot closer to it than some anonymous ceremony in front of a court clerk._

_The planning started within minutes, Kurt grabbing a file that he’d been collecting for over a decade, Carole fetching a legal pad for notes. Blaine sat at the kitchen table and looked a little overwhelmed._

_At least we had that in common._

_There were decisions to be made. Dozens of them. Scratch that. Hundreds of them. The kitchen table got buried under pictures and lists and samples and charts. Flow charts. The house had become wedding central._

 

 

* * *

It had been a quiet afternoon in the Hummel-Hudson household: Burt watching the game from the comfort of his recliner; Blaine and Carole engaged in a friendly game of Gin Rummy. Kurt had long since excused himself and disappeared upstairs.

Blaine looked up the staircase occasionally, but said nothing.

“Don’t worry, dear. He does this,” Carole said, almost off-handedly after noticing a hint of worry on Blaine’s face. “It’s nothing to worry about. He’s either reading or working on some project.”

Moments later, they heard a faint crash, then the sound of a door hitting a wall. Kurt soon appeared at the top of the staircase, an oversized box filling his arms. Blaine jumped to his feet to help him as Kurt stumbled down the stairs.

“What’s this?”

“Just a few ideas,” Kurt said, helping Blaine set it on the dining table.

The box, a clothes storage container designed to fit under a bed, was filled with folders of magazine clippings and photographs, rather than off-season sweaters or swimsuits. It contained years’ worth of carefully organized ideas for the cakes, tuxedos, flowers, food, locations and guest gifts for a wedding, collected over a young lifetime of daydreaming.

Blaine figured it out immediately, smiling to himself, then showing a fleeting moment of anxiety as the depth of the collection became clear. 

If he was shell-shocked by Kurt’s lifelong commitment to the perfect wedding, he didn’t show it for long. His eyebrows rose only slightly at the sight of the box’s contents, the faintest look of confusion, before settling back into his poker face.

Burt saw it and had a moment of recognition about Blaine. _You may be an actor, son, but you’re not fooling me. This scares you almost as much as it worries me_.

“Kurt, just how much stuff do you have in there?” he asked.

“Just a few ideas I’ve collected.”

“A few? This one’s dated 2005!” Burt picked up a folder and thumbed through dozens of pages cut from what looked to have been bridal or fashion magazines, each with what he assumed was a different tuxedo, though they all looked a lot alike to him.

“Isn’t this a bit much? How are you supposed to sort through all this?”

“Dad, that’s why they’re in file folders. And do you know how many magazines women look at just to pick out a wedding dress? This box has ideas for everything — and it’s already organized. All we have to do is sit down, look through the folders, keep the ones we agree on and then set a budget.”

“What do you mean, _then_ set a budget?”

Kurt rolled his eyes and grabbed another folder marked “Locations”.

“Locations? What’s that? The honeymoon?”

“We’re not planning a honeymoon, Mr. Hummel,” Blaine said.

“It’s costly and Blaine’s just starting his new job,” Kurt said.

Carole’s eyes softened.

Burt’s focused on the folder.

“Then what is it?” he asked.

“Wedding locations, Dad.”

“But I thought...”

“Burt, let’s just look, okay?” Carole said, quieting him.

The folder was split into two sections: New York and Ohio. Kurt skipped over the New York tab and opened it to a series of web page printouts of museums, botanical gardens, hotels and even a historic movie theatre. There was a Frank Lloyd Wright house near Springfield, and a page marked _Dalton_.

There was also a printout from the county courthouse marked _civil ceremonies_.

“The Packard Museum, eh?” Burt said with a certain sound of approval. “Whoa, there. Site fee, fifteen hundred bucks? And it doesn’t include food?”

“Burt...” Carole shushed him.

“The botanical gardens charge $750? But it’s a _public park_!”

“They’re just ideas, Dad.”

“I thought maybe you’d have the wedding here,” Burt said.

“But Burt, what about the reception?” Carole said, trying to bridge Kurt’s dream wedding with Burt’s somewhat less grand plans.

“We can have that here, too! Look, we set up some tables, fire up the barbecue...”

Kurt looked mortified.

Carole shook her head no, a move intended for Burt’s eyes only.

“Okay, so maybe not the barbecue, but why not have it here? It’s your home, Kurt. We’ve got a big yard. We can order up one of those tents to keep the bugs out, if you want.”

Kurt simply took a deep breath, and shifted his attention to Blaine.

“I’ve made some appointments this week to meet with caterers. Can you fit in some tastings with me before you head back?” he said, handing him sample menus from local event firms.

Blaine smiled and nodded. Burt looked over his shoulder and grimaced.

“Salmon? Fois Gras? Really, Kurt? What’s this gonna cost? How about some sandwiches or something?”

Carole rolled her eyes.

“Burt, this isn’t a Super Bowl party. You don’t feed people a six-foot Hoagie and chips.”

Blaine stayed mum through the discussion, thumbing through pictures of cakes: a pale yellow lemon chiffon, a Belgian chocolate triple-decker. He lingered over one — two sleek white squares wrapped with elegant black bow ties of confectioner’s sugar and topped with red, black and white roses.

“Mr. Hummel, would you like to help us test cakes?” he said, out of the blue, catching a quick look from Kurt.

“Test? Cakes?” Burt asked. “What are you talking about?”

“At the bakeries, sir. It’s just like the caterers. They let you sample all the cakes to help you make up your mind. We’ve got a couple of meetings scheduled this week. I was thinking, maybe you’d like to join us.”

Kurt could see what Blaine was up to, and quickly agreed. “Dad, they bake little sample cakes for us to try out. Any flavor they make: the cake, the filling, the icing, everything.”

“I thought you didn’t want me eating that stuff.”

“It’s a special occasion, Dad. We’ll make an exception. Wednesday, 2 p.m.”

Kurt and Blaine shared a knowing smile, and Carole saw their hands touch and linger as they moved close to each other’s side.

Carole smiled with an expression on her face that said: _Yes, Blaine Anderson will fit very nicely into this family_.

“Burt, why don’t we leave the guys to their work and you can take me out on the town?”

“Out on the town?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve gone out for dinner and a movie.”

Kurt moved in behind Blaine, resting his chin on his shoulder, and pointing out an ecru cake laced with painted leaves.

“Come along. It’s about time you took me out on a date.”

* * *

The movie was scheduled to end a little before 10 p.m., and Burt and Carole should have been hitting the driveway just shy of 10:30. At least, that was the plan. That’s what they’d told Kurt and Blaine, who appeared destined for a long night of reviewing menus and men’s formal wear.

“He’s only going to agree to it. It’s a wonder he looks at it at all,” Burt said. “We all know it’s going to be Kurt’s call.”

“Blaine’s just being supportive, dear. There’s nothing wrong with being agreeable.”

“Kurt walks all over him.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that. It’s just that maybe he defers these things to Kurt. I’m sure there are things that Kurt lets Blaine take the lead on. He chose the movie the other night...”

“... which Kurt ignored. He read that magazine...”

“... _Vogue_ , dear...”

“Whatever. But it hardly counts that Blaine chose _The Avengers_ if Kurt read some fashion magazine the whole time.”

“He watched the parts with Thor, I think.”

“Hmm.”

“Maybe they need a little private time just as much as we do, Burt,” Carole said, reaching across the table to touch his hand. “Let’s not worry about it, okay?”

Burt gave in to the moment, and allowed himself a night to feel like he and Carole had only just met, just started dating, just begun to realize that this might be real, that this might be for keeps.

They lingered over dinner, talked about the pride Burt had in his son, how Kurt had become a man almost overnight.

They avoided talk of wedding planning.

Burt ordered dessert — a tiramisu, of all things — despite the fact that he had avoided them since his heart attack five years earlier. “Special occasion,” he said with a wink. “I’m trying to impress a girl.”

The problem with the lingering, the relaxing into the moment, is that they both relaxed their way right past the start time of the film they’d planned to see, a new romantic comedy with just enough action scenes to hold Burt’s attention, and the next show time wouldn’t be until well after 10 p.m.

“That’s past quittin’ time,” Burt said. “Let’s just go home and watch something on cable.”

“You sure that’s a good idea, Burt?”

“What? Of course! The guys are probably just watching a movie. Or they’ve gone to that place with the overpriced coffee or something.”

Carole looked at him skeptically.

“Trust me.”

* * *

They pulled into the driveway at 9:18 p.m. and parked the car outside without even attempting to use the garage. Kurt had already secured samples of outdoor wedding decor from a local party store that now found a temporary home in Burt’s usual parking spot.

“I’ll tell you one reason I look forward to getting these two hitched,” Burt said, eyeing the garage.

Carole took his arm, and steered him toward the front door.

“Of course, dear.”

They opened the front door to a crash. No, more of a _bang_. Upstairs, an unfamiliar sound. Not quite a thud. Sharper than that.

“Burt?” Carole whispered.

“Sshh!”

“Maybe we should call 911,” she whispered again.

Another bang, louder this time.

They stood stiller than statues in the darkened room, wondering what to do.

“Oh god, Kurt! Oh, oh, just... yes. Right there, oh _GOD_.”

Burt blanched.

“Tell me this isn’t happening.”

“Oh my,” was all Carole could utter.

They could hear a mumbled voice, one that sounded a lot like Kurt’s, but couldn’t make out the words.

“Please, Kurt...”

 _Bang_.

“Tell me what you need, baby...”

 _Bang. Bang_.

“If that boy is taking advantage of my son, so help me...”

“Burt...”

“He. Will. Not. Live...”

“Burt, don’t.”

 _BANG_.

“Oh GOD! Kurt. Please... fuck me... harder... Kurt, do you even... _Oh!_... Do you know... _Yes!_ ”

 _BANG, BANG, BANG_!

They heard two synchronous loud moans, then quiet.

Burt and Carole looked at each other, unable to move or speak. Moments later, the suddenly calm, muted voice of Blaine Anderson broke the silence.

“Do you know how perfect you are, Kurt? I love you, so much.”

The second voice, the muffled one, said something that sounded a bit like “I love you, too.”

Carole covered her mouth with her hand and looked at Burt. Her cheeks lifted, pushed upward by the smile creasing her face. She was within inches of erupting in laughter. Once she was certain she had it under control, she moved her hand from her mouth to Burt’s elbow to steer him from the room.

“Honey, it doesn’t exactly sound like Kurt’s being taken advantage of,” she whispered.

Burt grimaced, his face flushed red, and glared at the stairwell.

“Sweetheart, they’re in love. They’re getting married. And they probably haven’t had alone time in a while.”

“But...”

“No buts,” she whispered sternly. “You’re taking me out for coffee — that expensive place you always complain about. Now.”

“But, Carole...”

“ _NOW_.”

 

 

 

* * *

Two hours later, they cautiously re-entered the house.

“Kurt? You up, buddy?”

The glow of the television screen lit the family room. Kurt and Blaine were curled on to the couch, watching some late night movie. Blaine appeared to have drifted off, having melted his chin into Kurt’s shoulder, but Kurt was propped up, half-watching the film and scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad.

“Well, you two were out late. We were starting to worry about you,” he said.

“I’m sure...”

“Burt...”

“So, what were you and Blaine up to while we were away?” Burt asked with the subtle snicker.

Kurt looked up, looking for all the world like he was trying to decide whether to answer, change subjects or just stay mute.

Burt just grinned.

“Because I know you had lots you wanted to get done tonight. You’re very hands-on with the wedding planning, I mean.”

He chuckled to himself, enjoying his own joke.

Carole elbowed him. Kurt’s eyes widened.

“Dad?”

“Never mind Kurt. Your father’s just a little punchy, being out so late.”

“We did talk about the ceremony, Dad, and um — if the offer still stands, we’d like to have it here.”

“But I thought you wanted to get married someplace special.”

“I do, and this is. What could be more special than home? I wasn’t thinking, Dad. You’ve offered to pay for this, and we shouldn’t be looking at expensive venues. If we could rent a party tent...”

“Sure, Kurt.”

“And if you’ll let me do a little sprucing up of the garden...”

“Sounds like I come out ahead.”

“Then we would love to be married here.”

Suddenly, the $1,500 event fee seemed a small price to pay for his son’s happiness, but if Kurt was satisfied having the wedding at home, then the $0 site fee for the Hummel-Hudson House sat just fine with Burt.

“You sure, kiddo?”

“ _Absolutely_.”

Blaine twitched at Kurt’s side, and burrowed himself deeper into Kurt’s shoulder.

“Mmm, Kurt. Don’t move. Wanna snuggle,” he mumbled, drifting back to sleep.

Burt sucked his lower lip into his mouth to stifle the laughter bubbling up from his gut. Carole took his hand.

“Come on, Burt. I think it’s time to call it a day.”

 

 

 

* * *


	6. The Planning

_Once they settled on getting hitched at the house, Kurt jump-started the wedding planning while Blaine was still in town. They only had a few days before Blaine had to head back to New York, a couple of days ahead of Kurt, to start his new job on the soap opera._

_But even with the matter settled, I still had a question nagging at the back of my head. It had been stuck there since we’d met Blaine’s folks. You see, there was one spot that wasn’t even considered for the wedding, and it didn’t make sense, not completely, not after visiting the Andersons._

_Don’t get me wrong — from the start, I knew Kurt wouldn’t have anything to do with a church wedding. They’d originally wanted a club, or a garden, or maybe a Broadway stage. But a church? Let’s say that Kurt’s views on religion are, well, settled._

_I’d suspected from the start that Blaine simply believed in letting Kurt have his way. My son’s a spirited kid and I had to figure that Blaine didn’t agree with him on everything, that maybe he just agreed with the things Kurt wanted — or didn’t want — because it was easier that way. I didn’t think much of it._

_And then it happened. The moment I didn’t expect, or really want. The moment it started to make sense._

_Because in the entryway to the Anderson house, a single wall decoration had opened a door into what made Blaine Anderson tick more than an entire brunch with his parents — a cross._

 

 

 

 

* * *

Blaine had come over to watch baseball, part of his _win over the future father-in-law_ campaign he’d waged through the world of sports, it seemed. Kurt sat quietly by his side, reviewing wedding notes and reading _Vogue_ , occasionally looking over and smiling.

They were, clearly, stupidly, intuitively in love — each focused on his own activity: a baseball game, a fashion magazine — yet taking a random moment every few minutes to touch a knee, or lean a head on a shoulder, or simply look at each other for the briefest of telling moments.

Burt tried to stay focused on the Reds game, but he couldn’t help but notice the wandering fingers and lingering looks. This was a lost cause.

“Kurt, I need to get some groceries for this evening. You guys want to come with?” Carole shouted from the kitchen.

“You stay,” he whispered to Blaine. “Watch the game.”

With a kiss to the cheek, he was gone, leaving Blaine alone with Burt for the bottom of the 8th inning in an unexpected pitching duel with the Chicago Cubs.

“Let’s hope they don’t have to go to the pen,” Blaine said, taking a sip of iced tea.

“We’re doomed if they do,” Burt said.

It went on like this, two men focused on the sub-par team to which they were equally devoted, mumbling at the television and the baseball gods until the Cubs ended the game on a two-run double in the bottom of the ninth.

“Holy hell,” Burt said, clicking off the TV.

“We need a blessing of the bats,” Blaine responded. “Some holy water, or maybe an exorcist.”

Burt looked at Blaine, considered his risky words for a moment, then dove in anyway.

“You know Blaine, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something.”

“Mmm?”

Blaine was still in baseball mode. His guard, usually up around Burt, was still settled comfortably into the couch.

“When Carole and I visited your folks’ home, I saw something I wanted to ask you about.”

Blaine looked at Burt, his look asking, “Yes?” even if his voice didn’t.

“On the wall. There was a cross near the front door. Did you grow up in the church?”

Blaine nodded a bit absently. “Yes, sir. St. Paul the Apostle in Westerville.”

“You still go?”

“No sir. No time, really, and the church and I, we don’t exactly see eye-to-eye these days.”

“And Kurt’s an atheist.”

Blaine paused for the slightest of beats, and then nodded in acknowledgement of that which Burt had left unsaid.

“And I still believe in God, yes.”

“How’s that working out?”

“Hmm?”

“With Kurt? And religion? His opinions are pretty...”

“Strong. Yeah, but I love that about him. He knows his mind, Mr. Hummel. He knows who he is and he has strong convictions and I just really am in awe of it, every day.”

“But what about you?”

“Faith is a private thing for me. Kurt knows.”

“And the wedding?” Burt asked.

“What about it?”

“No church? No pastor? I know it’s what my son wants, but what about you?”

“I think it will be lovely, Mr. Hummel.”

“That’s not what I mean, Blaine. I’ve been to your parents’ home. I saw that cross on the wall. I’ve seen you wait a second or two before you eat. I’ve seen you sort of dip your head for a moment.”

“Force of habit,” Blaine said.

“You’re praying, and I’m not criticizing, it’s just... you were raised in the church. You clearly still worship in your own way. Don’t you want to be married in a church?”

Blaine took a deep breath and collected his thoughts.

“Mr. Hummel, I don’t need it. I don’t need the trapping to believe what I believe. It’s just not necessary for me,” he said. “I haven’t been to church in years. Yes, I have my beliefs, I’ve had them since I was a kid and they’re not going away anytime soon. It’s part of who I am. But the church I grew up in won’t marry us, won’t even recognize us. Its official stance is that our relationship is a sin. So would I want to get married there, even if I could?”

“But there are other churches...”

“I know, and I’ve thought about that. But I’m comfortable the way I am. Faith is a private thing. You can’t define it just one way, and I don’t need a church or a pastor to do that for me, just like I don’t need one to bless our marriage. _We_ bless our marriage. We bless it by being good and kind and faithful and patient and understanding. Besides, Kurt wouldn’t be happy with a religious ceremony. And how can I be happy if Kurt’s not happy?”

“You’re willing to give that up for him?”

“I don’t see that as giving anything up. I just see it as giving. And I’d give Kurt anything, Mr. Hummel.”

And right then, the light went on.

It wasn’t that Kurt had found someone he could push around. There was give-and-take in the future Hummel-Anderson household, even if it wasn’t front-and-center. It was subtle, but it was there.

And this boy, this man, and his innate politeness weren’t an act. It wasn’t a game to impress the in-laws. This kid was no Eddie Haskell.

He was the real deal.

“Son, I think it’s about time you start calling me Dad,” Burt said.

“I’m not sure I can do that right now, before the wedding and all.”

“Then Burt. Call me Burt. But no more of the Mr. Hummel thing, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

There was nothing to caffeinate a household like Kurt Hummel with a wedding to plan.

The rest of the week was abuzz with activity. Kurt had made assignments for everyone, treating wedding planning like fashion triage. If they were going to be married in July, they needed to fast-track their interviews of caterers, photographers, bakers, DJs and other wedding specialists who he said get booked up for summer weddings nearly a year in advance.

Kurt took on the lion’s share of the work, scheduling as many appointments as possible to review sample menus, cakes, photography and music playlists as possible before he returned for the remainder of his school term. Blaine’s job seemed to be to accompany him. Carole was placed in charge household logistics, and would monitor the guest list and RSVPs, as well as record any gifts that arrived in Kurt and

Blaine’s absence.

Burt was told, unsympathetically, to get a new tux. The Tony Orlando look died with the Dodo Bird, Kurt told him. Kurt handed him a folder with clippings of sample tuxes he suggested would compliment his father’s frame.

“Just ask for a traditional box cut, Dad. Simple, elegant. And make sure it’s black.”

“What else would it be?” Burt asked.

“I’ve seen your original wedding pictures, Dad, and powder blue tuxedos are only acceptable in 70s cover bands.”

“I’ll have you know, 70s bands were awesome,” Burt said, chuckling to himself. “We had all kinds of style in the 70s.”

Kurt, already on to the next item on his checklist, didn’t even bother looking up.

“Mm-hmm. Black, Dad. Black.”

Burt shook his head, muttering “task master” under his breath. But he kept the clippings and knew, when it came down to ordering that new suit, all he had to do was hand it over to Tony at the tux shop and let him do the rest. Kurt knew what he was doing.

Everyone was to contribute names for the guest list so that the budget could be finalized by the end of the week.

The effort was to result in what could best be described as a staff meeting on Blaine’s last night in town, when the results of research, interviews, taste testing and, most importantly, the identification of guests could be tallied, sorted and finalized.

They sat around the dinner table, Carole with the ubiquitous legal pad, Blaine with a database of assembled guest names on his iPad.

Guest names that totaled 213, including plus-ones.

With a menu that currently cost $97 a head, and that didn’t include beer, wine, liquor or wedding cake.

“That’s it! We are going to sit here until we cut this list in half,” Burt exclaimed. “Kurt I love you and I want you to have a happy wedding.

But there’s a happy wedding and there’s a royal wedding and we don’t have a royal wedding budget. Blaine, read off the names. Carole, take notes.”

The three looked at Burt, then each other.

“Um, in alphabetical order or by wedding party member?” Blaine asked, uncertain what else to say.

“What? However the names show up, Blaine.”

Blaine looked at Kurt for guidance. Kurt gave him a short nod, a go-ahead.

“Anderson, Cooper and Anderson, Don and Bitsy.”

“Yeah, yeah. You can skip over the wedding party, Blaine.”

“Ashcroft, Margaret and Bob.”

Burt announced the verdict. “Cut ‘em loose!”

“But I work with Margaret, and they’ve been family friends for years,” Carole protested.

Kurt shook his head no to Blaine, who color-coded the names in his database rather than delete them.

“Next!” Burt said, standing up to peer over Blaine’s shoulder at the list.

“Rachel Berry,” Blaine said in a soft monotone.

“Wedding party,” Kurt said before anyone else could respond.

“Fine. Next.”

“Bohlner, Arnold.”

“Who?” Kurt asked.

“My best customer and a big campaign contributor,” Burt said. “He stays.”

“Wait a second. You’re saying Margaret and Bob — who are family friends — are off the guest list but Arnold Bohlner from Sofa World goes?” Carole asked.

Kurt and Blaine exchanged looks, and said nothing. If Burt was paying for the reception, Burt got a say in who could attend.

“Hey, isn’t that next one the photographer? Why do we have to buy a meal for him?”

It went on like that for more than an hour, and when they were done — Blaine with his color-coded database and Carole with her notepad — they had pared the names down to nearly 150. Blaine hardly raised his eyes from the tablet, and Kurt looked shell-shocked.

“There. That’s a little more manageable,” Burt said.

Kurt collected the rest of his notes, closed the cover on Blaine’s iPad.

“Blaine needs to get home and pack,” he said. “We’re just going to go get some coffee before he leaves.”

With a stony look on his face, he took Blaine’s hand to lead him to the door, scarcely leaving time for goodbyes.

Carole followed them to Kurt’s car, kissed Blaine on the cheek and wished him well in his new job, and shared an uncomfortable look with Kurt. She took a deep breath as she watched the car’s taillights disappear into the night, then turned back toward the house.

“ _BURT!_ ”

 

* * *

_Yeah, I got my head handed to me that night, but a line had to be drawn somewhere. We didn’t have the budget for the wedding of the century, or even of the decade. Someone had to be realistic about this._

_I didn’t see Kurt again until morning, when I walked into the living room to find him asleep on the couch, surrounded by magazines. A notepad was on the floor, looking for all the world like it had slipped out of his hand as he fell asleep._

_I did my best to get that notepad without waking Kurt, and then I took it with me into the kitchen. I got a look at his work while the coffee was brewing_ :

 

> WAYS TO SAVE $$ ON THE WEDDING
> 
>   * Serve appetizers instead of dinner
>   * Cash bar instead of hosted
>   * Make our tuxes myself
>   * Ask friends to sing at reception instead of DJ or band
>   * Ask Artie to be the videographer
>   * Make cupcakes instead of buying a wedding cake.
>   * Elope
> 


_Elope._

_The word hit me like a ton of bricks. A quickie wedding at the courthouse would surely save money, but it’s a far cry from the wedding my boy had been planning since he was a kid._

_Elope. They could get married without anyone there to see the biggest day of his life._

_Elope. They might run off in secret and just get it done._

_**Elope**. I couldn’t let it happen, even if it landed me in the poorhouse._

 

 

 

 

* * *


	7. The Takeover

_Okay, I caved._

_I know, I know — tough resolve, responsible budget._

_You try telling your only son, a good kid who’s been planning his wedding since he was in training pants, that he couldn’t live his dream._

_You do that, and see the look on his face._

_And then you watch him respond, not pouting or complaining, but by listing how he can bake cupcakes or make the wedding clothes himself to meet his budget. You watch him tear down those dreams because you told him it cost too much, and you see how far your resolve goes._

_It won’t go far._

_“We’ll make it work.” That’s what I told him._

_I didn’t give him my credit card, mind you. I just said we could find places to compromise: a slightly less expensive meal in exchange for a few more guests, stuff like that._

_So we had a talk, we set some guidelines, and we got to work._

_And that unleashed the beast._

 

* * *

Kurt — and to a lesser extent, Blaine — handled all of the initial interviews with caterers, florists, decorators and rental companies.

What Burt didn’t anticipate was Wedding Planning, Phase Two: the site visits, the follow-up interviews, the estimates. And with Kurt back in New York for the last few weeks of school, many of those responsibilities fell into Burt’s lap. He was, in effect, representing Kurt, at time like a de facto nuptial employee.

Not entirely, of course. Burt knew that Kurt did his best to call or Skype in to the Hummel-Hudson household to participate in as many appointments as possible. He also figured that it was Kurt’s way of easing the strain caused by the parade of consultants rummaging through the house, vying for his wedding business— or that he simply didn’t trust his father to entirely get it right. But between juggling school, his internship-turned-part time job at _Vogue_ and wedding planning, he sometimes called in late, or missed meetings entirely, leaving a befuddled Burt to take notes about white ceiling drapes or colorful accents, or of a wooden trellis versus an iron arbor. 

Blaine, on the other hand, benefitted from a reduced academic schedule, and saw his role on the daytime soap grow rapidly.

Dr. Ridge Rockwell proved an instant hit with viewers, both men and women, and the producers were more than happy to adjust existing story arcs to write a few more scenes for their burgeoning star.

Blaine valued the extra income. Kurt was a little less than enthusiastic, especially after his fiancé’s saucy debut on the show.

He knew that Blaine’s character was introduced to the show by being admonished for bedding two nurses his first week on the job. But

Blaine left him with the distinct impression that he would learn this as background, through dialogue.

What he did not expect was to see these scenes graphically illustrated in two make-out sessions between Blaine and two of the show’s actresses — both in Blaine’s first week on the job. Nor did he expect him to shoot a scene sleeping with them — simultaneously — in his second week. Or shoot a shower scene with another actress in his third.

“Kurt, it’s a _soap opera_. You knew there would be sex scenes. It’s about all these shows are,” Blaine said, trying to talk some reason into his increasingly annoyed fiancé.

“You didn’t tell me,” Kurt argued.

“Did I need to? I’m playing a Lothario, Kurt. You knew that. Do you want me to tell you every time I have a scene like that? Because we’ll be talking about work a lot.”

“It’s a bit _sudden_ , isn’t it? And a bit graphic for daytime TV. I mean, I’d understand if it was HBO...”

“They’re trying to push the envelope,” Blaine said.

“I should say so.”

“They think it will pull a younger demographic. Kurt, they’re _women_. And they’re not you. You’re going to be asked to do a love scene soon enough, but I know that at the end of the day you’ll be coming home to me. It’s the job, Kurt.”

Kurt’s jaw was set, his eyes sharply focused on a spot on the wall. Blaine knew these looks. They were Kurt’s tells.

“Do you want me to stop? It’s not exactly my dream job, but the money’s good. I figured we needed that right now. But if you’re not comfortable...”

Kurt let his shoulders ease down into a comfortable slump, easing his plywood-straight posture.

“It _is_ paying the bills,” Kurt said, softening his edge.

What he didn’t tell Blaine was that it wasn’t just the love scenes. He expected those. Blaine was hired to play a womanizer. On a soap opera. An _edgy_ soap opera. He was bound to get naked sometime.

What really unsettled him was the fans’ reaction to the new character, and to Blaine. Dr. Ridge Rockwell was a hit, and Blaine was starting to get recognized when they were out and about. With the fresh exposure came extra attention — not all of it welcome. Some of it was lavished on him through random praise and requests for curbside cell phone selfie portraits.

Some of it came in the form of phone numbers slipped into his breast pocket.

Blaine laughed it off and threw them out, as had been his habit since the last number he’d actually kept — Kurt’s. But the fact that it happened at all still got under Kurt’s skin, just a little. Not the men, not so much. Kurt was oddly prepared for the men who hit on his handsome fiancé, and he never for a moment questioned Blaine’s devotion or fidelity.

It was the number of women who came on to Blaine, even knowing that he didn’t play that game, and Blaine’s friendly acceptance of the attention that sometimes unnerved him.

 

 

* * *

Burt had finally gotten the hang of this Skype contraption, thanks in large part to the number of times he would have to turn on Carole’s laptop at an appointed time during the day and wait for it to ring, opening a portal of sorts for Kurt to meet with estimators and decorators.

He knew to click on the “answer” button when the computer erupted in a certain series of beeps and squawks.

“If it’s ringing, why can’t they just make the damn thing ring, already,” he mumbled to himself as Kurt’s image appeared on his screen.

Kurt was seated at his desk at work. Pulled together with upswept hair and wearing what Burt assumed was a sort of a suit, though not one he was likely to ever wear, what with its offset button placket and what appeared to be embroidery on the collar.

“Hey kiddo. How’s it going today?”

“Good, good. Busy, but good. Thanks for taking time to do this.”

“Sure, sure,” Burt said. “So is today a florist or a party rental guy? Because I’ve pretty much lost track at this point.”

“Party rental. He’s bringing over sample linens and place settings.”

“I’m just going to have to trust you on that, Kurt.”

“That’s why we Skype, Dad.”

“So how’s Blaine doing? How’s the show going?”

“Fine, fine,” Kurt said, sounding distracted.

“Carole said to let you know that all the nurses are watching, and they all love him. And Fernando the night charge nurse said to let you know that if you ever change your mind about him...”

“Gotcha, Dad.”

Burt picked up on something in his son’s voice, something that rang a little too hollow for distraction.

“You sure everything’s alright on that end? Nobody’s getting wedding jitters, are they?”

“No Dad. It’s okay,” Kurt said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

 

 

 

* * *


	8. The Jitters

_I knew the day would come. I knew it from the day Kurt first told us he planned to marry someone he’d known less than a year. I knew there was bound to be trouble in paradise._

_Everything had been so rushed: the relationship, the engagement, the preparations, the juggling of planning a wedding in Ohio with a graduation in New York, and the launch of careers._

_It wasn’t until weeks later that Kurt realized that they hadn’t even started the process of combining two meager households._

_When I first suspected that this engagement wasn’t built to last, I expected the inevitable break-up to be good news. I expected to celebrate privately and publicly reassure my son that he’d find the right guy someday._

_I didn’t expect it to land like a punch to the gut._

_I expected it to be over something big, like where they were going to live. Or careers. Or maybe kids._

_Instead, it was over the wedding registry._

 

 

* * *

The thought struck Kurt as they packed for their first post-graduation trip back to Ohio. He would stay behind to work on wedding plans. Blaine, who was settling into his role as Dr. Ridge Rockwell, would return after an extended weekend.

“Should we register?” Kurt asked, almost absentmindedly.

“Should we what?”

“Register. We haven’t made a registry for the wedding, and I’ve gotten a couple of messages asking where we’re registered.”

“For gifts?”

“For gifts,” Kurt said, cozying up to Blaine and wrapping his arms around his neck. He nuzzled at Blaine’s jaw as he let his mind drift.

“Mmm, cookware and stemware and towels and linens. _Oh myyyyyy_.”

“So, we could register for 800 thread count sheets?” Blaine answered, finally considering the possibilities.

“Mmm-hmm. Never hurts to put it on the list.”

“Well, then sign me up,” he said, wrapping Kurt in his arms and pulling him into the embrace.

Macy’s was easy enough. It had stores in both New York and Ohio, and they could easily build a registry online, even collaborate during their brief separation.

The problem was in Lima, where Kurt decided they should also register at Jensen’s, the local department store he had shopped at since the earliest of his back-to-school wardrobe excursions. The thought was that it would be good to have a local list, at a familiar store that didn’t require online access or a drive to Dayton. It just made sense, or at least that’s what he thought when Carole suggested it.

Jensen’s didn’t have online retail, let alone a virtual registry. It was done the old-fashioned way: in the store, with a clipboard-toting store clerk — in this case, Barbara, a 50-something lifetime resident of Lima with frosted blonde tips and a trail of husbands in her wake.

They knew this because Barbara shared her life story with them as she followed them around the store.

Married at 19. Oh, that was a mistake — too young, wanderlust. But husband number two, at age 23, well he was a keeper, right up to the day he fell off a grain silo just outside Findlay. Husband number three was a salvation, pulling her out of her mourning period and back into matrimony. Yes, Barbara the Jensen’s clerk believed in love.

Blaine oozed his natural charm, and Barbara (“Call me Barb, dear.”) directed most of her attention his way.

“How sweet of you to start a registry for your bride. There’s so much to do leading up to the wedding, isn’t there? What’s your bride’s name, sweetheart?”

Blaine’s eyes grew momentarily large. Kurt’s jaw locked as he shot him a glance, and started to correct her when Blaine jumped in, politely changing the subject before Kurt could speak.

“So, we have a rough list of linens and kitchenware,” he said.

He pulled an iPhone from his pocket to show her the list he and Kurt had worked on together from the Macy’s web site: the Henckels knives, All-Clad brushed stainless cookware, Le Crueset stoneware and Dutch oven, Reidel stemware, and hotel collection bedding in slate gray.

“Oh, these are very nice. She’ll love this cookware,” she said. Kurt cocked an eyebrow at Blaine.

“I’m not sure we have all of this in stock. Let me go back and check. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Barb. We’ll be nearby.”

As soon as she disappeared behind the stockroom door, Kurt spun around to face Blaine.

“What. The. Hell.”

“Kurt...”

“What the hell was that? Why did you let her do that? Why did you let that go on?”

“I just thought...”

“You thought nothing! We’re here, _registering for our wedding_ , and she asks you about the bride. Well, the _groom_ was standing right next to you.”

“I just thought it would be easier...”

The color flared in Kurt’s cheeks, his eyes narrowing.

“Easier for who? You always pass for straight, and you do nothing to dissuade them.”

“Now that’s not true.”

“How many girls have hit on you in the last month?”

“That has nothing to do with me.”

“It has everything to do with you. You let them. I swear, you like it.”

“I tell them I’m involved.”

“With a guy?”

“I don’t act on it, so why should it matter?”

“You flirt.”

“You always said you liked that. And that’s who I am, Kurt. I’m friendly. I like people. If you think that’s flirting, or coming on to people, that’s you, not me.”

“What were you going to do when she filled in the name of the couple on that registry, hmm? Change my name to ‘Kate’?”

“You know I wouldn’t do that.”

“Did you see that form? It doesn’t ask for the names of the ‘registrants’, it asks for the name of the bride and groom. So, who’s the bride?”

“Kurt, it doesn’t matter. Make me the bride, I don’t care. I just want to marry you.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t bother you? It should. It should bother you every day.”

“That’s not what I mean. I just, I’ll fill my name in under ‘bride’,’’ Blaine said.

“You’re missing the point.”

“Which is?”

“It’s everything. It’s cake toppers and traditions that don’t quite fit and the people of Lima who aren’t quite used to this yet and wedding rituals that are about fertility. _Fertility rituals_ , Blaine. And it’s store clerks who want to meet the bride.

“You say you’re out and proud, and in New York, it seems like you are. We’re a couple there and everyone knows it. But we get to Ohio and suddenly I feel like I’m being dragged into the closet with you. And it’s easier for you because people think you’re straight — and you let them believe that. Why don’t you stand up for us here, Blaine?”

“I’m just trying to keep everything as easy as possible.”

“We’re supposed to be getting married here in a few weeks. What’s the problem?”

“This isn’t New York.”

“It shouldn’t matter where we are, Blaine. And the fact that it does, and that you wouldn’t stand up for me and that you just don’t get it makes me wonder why we’re doing this at all.”

“Kurt, no! Where is this coming from? This is such a little thing.”

Kurt shook his head, _no_. His eyes were starting to well with tears and he couldn’t meet Blaine’s eyes. He looked around the store, saw

Barbara starting to approach and finally looked at Blaine.

“I can’t do this,” he said, turning his back and leaving.

Blaine stood alone in the middle of the linen department as the clerk walked up, clipboard in hand.

“Where did you friend go?”

“He’s not my friend,” Blaine responded in monotone.

“He’s my fiancé.”

 

 

* * *

Kurt hurtled his rental car into the driveway of his parents’ home, slamming the driver’s door shut and stomping toward the house. He had left Blaine behind at the store. He could fend for himself, Kurt decided.

The front door got the same treatment as the car, slamming shut, causing Burt to look up from the sports section of the Columbus

Dispatch, a reading ritual he had been looking forward to all day.

“Whoa, whoa there. What was that?”

“Nothing!” Kurt cried, making a beeline for the staircase.

“Kurt! You get back down here. What’s going on?”

Kurt paused for a moment, staring at the floorboard.

“The wedding’s off,” he said.

Carole had heard the commotion and clambered down the stairs, heading straight for Kurt and wrapping him up in a hug.

“Oh, Kurt, what happened?”

“It’s off. It’s...” Kurt buried his head on her shoulder. “He...”

“Come here,” she said, steering him toward the living room. “Let’s sit down and talk about it.”

Kurt started slowly, but eventually poured it all out, sort of, through sobs and gasps and the repeated refrain of “He doesn’t care,” he tried to explain why it was absolutely, positively necessary for him to break off the engagement — no ifs, ands or buts.

Carole hugged him sympathetically, and assured him that everything would be all right.

Burt cocked his head to onside and scrunched his forehead like a confused Labrador Retriever.

“Tell me again what the problem is? He offered to be the bride?”

“He _passes_ , Dad, and he doesn’t do anything to correct it.”

“Passes? Afraid I’m not following you, Kurt.”

“People think he’s straight, Dad.”

“Okay...”

“And he doesn’t correct them.”

“I see.”

Burt scratched his chin for a moment, sizing up the argument and Kurt’s complaints, which he didn’t have a complete grasp of. Then he scooted forward in his chair, folding his hands together in much the same way he did when the Bengals were fourth and goal.

“Kurt, let me ask you something. You’re upset because people think Blaine’s straight, and because he just lets it slide? Right?”

“Yes.”

“I assume some of these people are girls?”

“They hit on him all the time. And it doesn’t help that his character on _Days of Our Time_ is a womanizer.”

Burt wrinkled his brow.

“He’s a playboy doctor who slept with two nursing students in his first episode. Girls love him,” Kurt said.

“Girls love you.”

“When I design their clothes or go shopping with them.”

“I see. Blaine — how does he respond to the attention? _Does_ he respond? Do you have any doubts about his, um, fidelity?”

“Oh, no! No, Dad. He’s not interested in girls, not like that. I mean, he kissed Rachel once, but that was an accident.”

“I’m just going to let that one pass. No pun intended, son.”

Kurt looked up at him, a little annoyed, but eventually amused.

“So let me get this straight. You’re upset because when this happens he doesn’t stop the person and say, ‘No, I’m gay’?”

“Dad, I was standing _right there_ when this sales lady asked him about the bride. _The Bride_ , and he just changed the subject.”

“Look son, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but Blaine strikes me as a very... _polite_... young man. Is it possible, just possible, that he was trying to save embarrassment for that store clerk — and maybe for you?”

“I’m not embarrassed about being gay, Dad.”

“I know that. And I’m proud as hell of you because of it. But maybe Blaine read it as an awkward situation that he was just trying to avoid. He grew up here, too, son. And like you said, Ohio is not New York. This marriage thing is still new here. People are just learning to adjust. And there’s a helluva lot to learn.”

Kurt looked down at his hands, rubbing them together in concentration.

“I don’t want to spend a life where I feel I’m being pushed back in the closet.”

“And that’s valid, Kurt. I’m just saying, maybe you should hear him out.”

Just then they heard a car pull into the driveway. Burt looked between the curtains to see Blaine paying a cab driver.

“He’s here.”

“I don’t want to see him,” Kurt said, rising and heading toward the stairs. “Tell him to go away.”

The doorbell rang — once, twice — and Burt rose to open the door.

“Blaine?”

“Mr. Hummel, I need to see him.”

_If there were ever a time to ensure that this marriage didn’t happen, or at least got postponed, this would have been it. Kurt had doubts and Blaine had the dumbfounded look of a kid who’d just been picked last for the dodge-ball team._

_The boy looked distraught, lost. Kurt had a similar look on his face, but with a dash of his patented anger thrown in. This was that moment I knew would happen, that I planned to take advantage of, and when it finally arrived... I caved._

_One glance at the mopey look on Blaine Anderson’s face and I knew I had to do something._

“C’mon, son. How’s about you and me go get a beer or something?”

“But I need to fix this. I need to talk to Kurt.”

“Listen to me, son. I know my boy. By the time we get back, Kurt’ll have calmed down, and then you two can talk. It’s gonna be okay.

Trust me. Come on, let’s go get a drink, just the two of us.”

Burt drove him to Lucky’s, a neighborhood bar a mile or two away — a dark, old-time watering hole with brightly-hued neon signs of beer bottles, brand logos and mascots lining the walls. A couple sat at the bar, eating burgers and drinking Bud. Burt pointed Blaine towards a corner booth.

“Barkeep, can we have a couple of beers here?” he called out to the bartender.

For the next 90 minutes, Blaine poured his heart out, sipping beer and occasionally sobbing, the crux of the message being he loved

Kurt, he didn’t mean to hurt him and he would parade around Lima wearing a sandwich board declaring his undying devotion to Kurt Hummel if he needed to.

“Mr. Hummel...”

“Burt...”

“I appreciate this, but I need to get back to Kurt. I need to apologize. I need...”

“Sloooooooow down there, Blaine. You know what we’re doing here, right?”

Blaine looked up from his beer with blood-shot eyes.

“Um, talking?”

“No kid. We’re buying time.” Burt sipped at his beer, the hint of a grin on his lips. “Kid, let me tell you something about my son. Now,

I’m not saying that Kurt’s a hothead. Let’s just say he can be a little passionate when he gets worked up about something.”  
Blaine gave him a half-smile, and nodded.

 _Progress_.

“And when Kurt gets worked up about something, the best thing to do is leave him alone for a little while to work it out. He will. Don’t you worry. But you can’t just force the issue. He has to sort things out on his own for a bit before he sees what’s right in front of his face.”

“And when do you think that will be, with this?” Blaine asked quietly.

“After another beer,” Burt quipped, hailing the bartender for another round.

“So, tell me about this character of yours. Kurt tells me he’s a lady killer.”

Blaine rolled his eyes, and told his future father-in-law about Dr. Ridge Rockwell, bad-boy doctor of _Days of Our Time_.

 

 

 

* * *

_We spent another hour in that bar, talking about Blaine’s job and his plans for the future. Most of it revolved around Kurt._

_I also discovered that my future son-in-law was a bit of a lightweight in the drinking department. One beer and he became chatty. Two beers and he was an emotional wreck, hell-bent at getting home to Kurt._

_And when we walked through that front door, Kurt showed up on the staircase as if on cue. Blaine called him “Baby”. Kurt swept him up in a hug. It was about that time I excused myself to the den, but I’d seen enough to know that this argument was over._   
_Carole and I decided to spend a couple of hours watching movies on cable. Loud movies. We didn’t see the boys again that night._

_The wedding was back on._

 

 

* * *


	9. The Preparation

_It was no longer my home._

_Oh, I had the keys. And the mortgage, and a house full of furniture I seemed to remember buying. But this was not my home any more._

_Because my home had been turned over to the wedding, and every caterer, band member, deejay, mover, party rental company, designer, florist and delivery crew that has this address in its Rolodex._

_I have always thought a man’s home — or at least his garage — was supposed to be his castle, but this wedding has taught me the truth: that a man’s house is his castle until someone wants to have a wedding there. After that, you just nod your head and get out of the way._

 

 

* * *

An early sweep of contractors visiting the house to measure and estimate and quote was just a hint of things to come, Burt soon realized. Once Kurt and Blaine had finished with their wedding registries, the gifts arrived in earnest, a regular flow of UPS and FedEx and postal carriers, all delivering packages from Macy’s and Jensen’s and the occasional New York department store with fancy gift wrap and brand names that sounded more like law firms than designers.

Burt grumbled something about Fifth Avenue as he pointed out the latest delivery, the third that day, to Kurt.

“What I want to know is why they have to go and put the address in their name. Is it Jensen’s-Main? No. Macy’s-Mall? No.”  
Kurt smiled knowingly. The rough translation: _Your lack of savoir-faire amuses me, Dad_.

“It’s classic. Saks wouldn’t be Saks without Fifth Avenue. It’s chic,” he said, pulling a box, neatly wrapped in white pearl paper with a silver bow, from its protective shipping container.

“Well it’s been chic-ing up my hallway all day,” Burt said, taking the shipping box and breaking it down so it would fold flat.

“I know, Dad. You’d like your home back. We’ll start opening them as soon as Blaine gets here,” Kurt promised. “Then we can at least get rid of the packaging. In the meantime, I’ll take them down to the basement.”

With a slight eye roll, and a smile that wasn’t intended for his father’s eyes, Kurt began collecting packages and carrying them downstairs, adding them to the growing collection. Burt followed, and slowed as he hit the lower steps.

Laid out in front of him were dozens upon dozens of boxes, all elegantly wrapped, lined up along the baseboards and nearly spilling off tables.

“It’s looks like some kind of pirate hideout in here, kid.”

Kurt chuckled and focused on organizing packages.

“So what’s on the itinerary with your fiancé this weekend?” Burt asked.

“With Blaine?”

“Well, unless you’ve got another one tucked away somewhere...”

Kurt wheeled around and shot his father a look of mild annoyance. But Burt knew better. Underneath that layer of snark was a kid that would move heaven and earth for the people he loved.

“His flight doesn’t get in ‘til later, so I’m going to meet up with Rachel and Mercedes for a last fitting on their dresses,” he said. “Which reminds me — did you get your tux rented?”

Burt’s face burst into a magnetic smile. “No need!” he said, crossing to the corner closet. “Look what I found.”

He pulled a garment bag from the rack and opened it to reveal a dark blue tuxedo, circa 1987. The jacket was dominated by heavy shoulder pads, and accented with broad notched satin lapels.

The fabric appeared to be some sort of dense velvet.

“Rico Suave,” Burt said, holding the jacket up against his chest and mimicking a salsa dance.  
Kurt’s face froze.

“No.”

“And it just about fits. I keep up those afternoon walks and keep eating those leafy greens you keep buying, and it’ll be your Mom and my wedding reception all over again!”

Kurt stared at the offending garment, his face gone blank.

“No.”

Burt looked him in the eye, waited a beat, and then burst out laughing.

“Five bucks at the Goodwill, and worth every penny to see the look on your face just now.”

“Wha—?”

“I ordered one of the tuxes you picked out a couple of weeks ago. Just handed Tony the page out of the magazine and let him measure me up. Should be in on Tuesday.”

 

 

 

* * *

With the deliveries now stowed in the basement, Burt felt like he had at least reclaimed some space in his home. What he didn’t have was control of it.

Over the course of the day, the party rental company sent a salesman by to drop off sample arbors, candelabras and plant stands for

Kurt, and to make recommendations as to how much furniture would have to be removed from the house to accommodate both the guests and the rented fixtures. (“What do you mean, the furniture has to go? Where are people going to sit, Kurt?”)

What seemed like moments after his departure, the moving company sent a representative who scoured the home, taking notes about the furniture to be moved and stored, preparing an estimate on a tablet computer as he went along.

Oh, and how could he forget the deejays? Four had stopped by already. More were scheduled after Blaine arrived.

“Doesn’t Blaine want to have a say in this? He likes music, right?” Burt asked, exasperated.

“He’s a musician, Dad. Of course. He _loves_ music. But we’ve talked about it and we know what we’re looking for, and he trusts me to narrow the field to finalists. Then we’ll decide together.”

Sure enough, later that night, long after he and Carole had called it a night, he got up to get a glass of water and found Kurt and Blaine side-by-side on the couch, bobbing their heads slightly in a synchronous rhythm.

It wasn’t until he stood, silent and a bit confused, for a few moments that he realized they both were wearing those little in-ear headphones, seated in front of a laptop computer. As he approached, he saw that they were both plugged in to an audio splitter, listening to set samples that deejays had sent to Kurt.

They were both oblivious to the fact that Burt was standing behind them, and went about the business of selecting both their reception music and the person who would play it.

“Really, Kurt? A boy band? You surprise me,” Blaine said, ear buds still in, speaking a little louder than he probably realized.

“And I plan on doing that for years to come,” Kurt said, pulling the tiny speaker from his ear and kissing him on the cheek. “Besides, that one’s special.”

Blaine reached up and cupped Kurt’s cheek with his forefingers, gently rubbing his thumb along Kurt’s lower lip. Then he pulled Kurt in for a more robust kiss, at which point Burt quietly backed his way out of the room.

 

 

* * *

To be honest, Burt considered it a bit of a relief when Blaine arrived. That was something he never would have expected when Kurt had first brought his fiancé home, but Burt had come to enjoy watching a few innings of a Reds game with someone who actually enjoyed baseball. It also allowed him a few moments of respite from the chaos surrounding him.

To a degree, he suspected Blaine felt the same way. It wasn’t that he was disinterested in the wedding planning — he sat at Kurt’s side through every rundown of every decision to be made, from fabric swatches to wedding cake fillers. Through it all, he sat quietly, nodding his assent or scratching his chin at times in a way that Burt suspected meant he disagreed with the prevailing thought. And when Kurt decided to take a break, Blaine would wander into the den with Burt, ask for an update on the game, and quietly settle in.

It was during those times that Burt initiated what came to be known as the _Lemme Ask Ya Moments_ , the times when he and Blaine were left alone for a while, watching a game or visiting the garage while Kurt and Carole were off somewhere, shopping or commiserating or plotting in ways neither Blaine nor Burt cared to hazard a guess about.

“Lemme ask ya something, Blaine,” it would start before diving headlong into a discussion on life, love, relationships, politics or the validity of the designated hitter rule in the American League.

“Blaine, lemme ask ya somethin’,” Burt said. It was Saturday morning, and the two had agreed to meet at Hummel Tire & Lube so Blaine could get the oil changed on the his family’s spare car —the one used for foul weather trips and visiting sons — while Kurt ran errands with Carole.

“Yes?”

“Why do you love my son?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you love my son?”

Blaine looked stunned, like he had just witnessed either an unthinkable crime or a poorly coordinated ensemble.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. He’s lovable. I think he’s the most lovable kid in Ohio, but I’m his dad. What I want to know is, why do you love him? And I don’t want the _moment to impress the future father-in-law speech_.”

“Did I do that, before?”

“You sure did. Now I want the straight dope,” Burt said without missing a beat, loosening the Volvo’s oil filter. “What is it about my son that makes you want to marry him?”

Blaine bit his lip, an act of both concentration and self-consciousness Burt had grown to recognize. He raised his hand to his mouth to cover the wisp of a smile crossing his lips.

“Well, first of all, we’re compatible.”

“Clearly.”

“We have a lot in common.”

“True.”

“But our differences balance out well.”

“But _why_ do you love my son?”

“There are so many things. He’s smart. He’s witty. He’s handsome, of course...”

Burt smiled. It was the first time someone had described Kurt to him as attractive.

“He’s actually... beautiful,” Blaine added, sounding for all the world like he was talking to himself rather than to his future father-in-law.

Blaine paused for a moment, thinking. “He hides it sometimes, but he cares deeply about people. He’s fiercely loyal. He has standards —

I can’t think of a time when he has opted for the low road.”

Burt had to stifle a laugh. Blaine really hadn’t known Kurt long enough to use a phrase like ‘I can’t think of a time’, but he had nailed the characteristic. That was his son, through and through.

“But mostly, I think what it boils down to is his strength.”

“What?” Burt stopped his work for a moment, and wiped his hands on a shop towel.

“His strength, strength of character. Kurt has this inner confidence, Mr. Hummel...”

“Burt.”

“Um, yes. He really knows who he is, and he is fearless about sharing that with the world. I love that about him because I’m not that strong.”

“How do you mean, kid?”

Blaine gave him a look, a _Really? Kid?_ face.

Burt caved.

“How do you mean, Blaine?” he corrected.

Blaine smiled.

 _Fine, score one for Blaine Anderson_ , Burt thought.

“Well, for example, I know that sometimes it really frustrates Kurt, the way that I pass.”

“Ah, yes.”

“People don’t automatically figure me out. I mean, I get mistaken for straight, all the time. Part of it is the character on _Days_. And some of it’s the clothes, I guess. I grew up wearing polos and oxfords, just standards, and that’s what I’m comfortable with. A lot of people just don’t think I look...”

“Gay?”

“Gay. There are cues, and gay men pick up on them, but I guess it’s not obvious to everybody. Meanwhile, Kurt has survived years of heckling and harassment because of his fashion or his voice or whatever. People think he’s feminine, but he’s not. In my mind, what he wears makes him more masculine.”

“But you and your parents both said you got beat up...”

“Yeah,” Blaine said, his voice growing soft. “But that was years ago. There are moments, I guess, when... but that’s all pretty much behind me. Sometimes I’m cautious, but I haven’t had the sort of lifelong battle that Kurt’s faced. And despite it all, he’s not afraid to be himself, to express himself — including through his clothes.

“He has a creative mind, and he has a feel for the next big thing. His choices are brave. He knows that it draws attention, but it’s also who he is. It’s honest, and it’s brave — and that, to me, is very, very masculine. Really, they kind of have it backwards.”

“I don’t think I need to hear this part, Blaine.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Hummel... I don’t mean...” Blaine stammered.

“Call me Burt.”

“... because that’s not exclusively one or the other...”

“Blaine, please.”

“What I mean is, I love Kurt because he is strong in character. He’s honest — with himself and the world — and he doesn’t take shit from anyone. Oh! I’m sorry! I mean, he doesn’t take guff...”

“That’s okay, son, I’ve heard it before.”

“He’s braver than I am. I love him for that, and every moment I’m with him, I feel a little stronger. He knows who he is and what he wants, and nothing is going to change that.

“I love that he’s complex, and I feel like I learn something new about him every day, and that I’m sure it’ll keep happening for years to come.

“And some day, when we’re in our eighties and sitting on a park bench holding hands and talking about our grandkids, I plan on sitting there and listening to Kurt snark about the poor fashion choices of the mothers collected around the playground.”

Burt slapped Blaine on the shoulder, a fatherly show of support for his soon-to-be son-in-law.

_Okay, Blaine Anderson, you can stay. But please, don’t try to explain your sex life to me ever again._

 

 

 

  
* * *


	10. The Rehearsal Dinner

_What a difference a couple of months make._

_As the wedding day approached, the Andersons changed their tune about self-reliance and the cost of their son’s nuptials. It happened at dinner one night, the phone ringing just while we were sitting down to eat. Carole almost didn’t pick it up, but when she did, she didn’t get off the phone for a good half-hour. It was Bitsy Anderson, and she had news._

_It wasn’t entirely clear why — Carole figured Bitsy had talked Don into it — but they’d had a change of heart about their involvement in the wedding. They wanted to host the rehearsal dinner. Maybe they feared the prospect of a backyard barbecue. Maybe they felt some guilt about not contributing to the wedding. Or maybe they’d simply changed their minds. Bitsy apparently didn’t go into detail._

_It would have been great if that had happened before the bills for Lima’s version of the Wedding of the Century had been paid._

_They offered to host a rehearsal dinner for the families and close friends of our grooms. They told Kurt and Blaine to pick someplace nice and added just one condition: “Please, not that dreadful place with the bread sticks.”_

_The boys selected a Japanese steakhouse and sushi bar. Sushi. In Lima, Ohio. They said it would be fun, dinner and a show. It wasn’t difficult to see through Kurt’s hidden culinary agenda, but I’d gotten used to that over the years. And the fact that my son still insisted on looking out for my well-being... well, I’m not going to complain too much about that — especially since I ordered the steak._

 

 

 

* * *

Kurt and Blaine arrived early — both dressed in summer suits and the seeming picture of decorum as they greeted guests and played host. But Burt could see it: the little touches, the lingering looks. He’d seen it before, and even though he had come to accept and even care about Blaine, he didn’t necessarily enjoy watching an episode from Animal Planet play out before his eyes. The mating rituals could stay behind closed doors, as far as he was concerned.

So it came as little surprise that somewhere between the appetizer and the salad, the two grooms disappeared. They were nowhere to be found.

Burt felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Mr. Hummel?” Mercedes Jones had planted herself just to his side, leaning in for a discreet whisper. “Mr. Hummel? Do you know where Kurt went? And Blaine? We were going to start introductions and some friends were going to say a few words, but they’re not here.”

Burt shook his head.

“Did anyone check the men’s room? Maybe they’re freshening up,” he answered, giving himself a rationalization he could live with, even if it was a lie.

Mercedes shook her head.

“Sam checked. No guys.”

“The bar?”

She chuckled. “First place we looked.”

Burt closed his eyes for a moment, and then pinched the bridge of his nose to ease the building tension in his head.

“Then I’d check the parking lot.”

Mercedes’ posture straightened in response, hands shooting straight to her hips, eyes narrowing, any semblance of manners abandoned.

“Oh, _hell_ no! Not again!”

“So this has happened before?”

“All the damn time.”

“Blaine drives a Volvo. Kurt’s rented a Prius. Look for those.”

“Thanks Mr. Hummel,” she said, trying to remain calm while she was within earshot, then muttering her complaints as she huffed off.

“Always me. I always get the damn short straw.”

Burt could see her through the restaurant’s windows as she reached the parking lot and looked around. She found the Volvo, locked and dark. Then she searched the disproportionate share of Toyota hybrids in the lot. The first one, in a handicapped stall, was empty. The second, near the staff door, was also locked tight.

It wasn’t until she saw her fifth Prius, off in the far reaches of the lot, that she’d found them.

From a distance, it looked like the windows had grown foggy. And as she approached, the car swayed in its parking spot.

 

 

 

* * *

“Shit,” Mercedes mumbled to herself. “Here we go again.”

She approached cautiously, seeing movement and shadowed figures in the small hybrid. She heard muffled voices, but couldn’t make out what was being said. She got closer and realized why — she heard moans, not words.

“Guys?”

The car rocked, slightly, then jumped.

“Oooh, shit! Blaine... ugh... yes...”

Mercedes rolled her eyes.

“ _Guys?_ ”

“Oh god, Kurt, I love you...”

“Guys,” she said again, a little louder.

“Blaine!”

Fed up, she rapped her knuckles on the window. “Guys, I’m giving you two minutes.”

_Giggling._

She heard giggling inside the car. Giggling, and moaning.

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”

“Hurry up, Kurt, come on...”

“Now it’s a minute.”

The moans picked up to a brisk tempo, with muffled cries piercing the night air.

“Thirty seconds and I’m opening the door.”

Two voices responded in unison.

“No!”

Mercedes waited as long as she dared, rapped on the door one last time, then jiggled the handle.

Moments later the door flew open, and two bodies nearly spilled out with it. Kurt’s shirt was rucked up above his waist and Blaine, on his back, looked slightly dazed.

Both were struggling with their pants.

“Oh, come on guys. It’s your rehearsal dinner. Couldn’t it wait?”

She was met with stifled giggles from Blaine and dagger eyes from Kurt as the two peeled themselves out of the tiny rental car.

“Oh, you don’t give me that, Kurt Hummel. You ducked out on your parents, your friends, your aunts and uncles and co-workers to get off in the back of a Toyota? Tacky.”

Blaine bit his lip and tucked his shirt back into his pants. Kurt stood, covering himself with a jacket he had folded over his arm, annoyed.

“Now come on, zip up, go wash your hands and eat dinner with the rest of us.”

 

 

 

* * *

By the time they returned to the special events room at the Yamato Palace, an increasingly raucous dinner was well underway. Guests circled teppanyaki tables, applauding and cheering as three chefs flipped shrimp onto the guests’ plates straight off the grills.

The room buzzed with energy.

To one side sat longtime Ohio friends who had splintered across the country over time and college coursework. These were the performers of the room, the show choir graduates and former _a cappella_ stars who had already eyed the karaoke bar at the far side of the restaurant and made plans for a late night of vocal acrobatics.

To the other side, extended families in town for the big event and in more than a few cases, on hand out of a naive curiosity of exactly what they would do at a marriage between two men.

Blaine took Kurt’s hand and walked him to the head of the center table. They sat between sets of parents: Kurt next to Don and Bitsy,

Blaine with Burt and Carole, a sign of imminent unity between the two families.

After the guests had settled into their dinners, Burt saw Don Anderson flag down a cocktail waitress, whisper in her ear and point out the entire room with his hand. About ten minutes later, she returned with a tray of stemware and reinforcements: champagne was being served to the entire room.

As the waitresses poured, Don and Bitsy stood, leading the room in a clatter of spoons clinking stemware, demanding attention of the guests.

Burt looked at Carole, a tiny facial shrug that conveyed that he had _no idea_ what was about to happen, and handed her a glass.

“I know that the speeches are scheduled for a couple of nights from now, but there were a few words we wanted to share with you, with our families and Blaine and Kurt’s closest friends gathered tonight.”

“Here comes the speech,” Burt whispered to Carole, earning an elbow to the ribcage.

“Bitsy and I couldn’t be happier for our boy Blaine, and how he has found love. We have always wanted only the best for our sons, but we’ve also always looked to instill a strong work ethic, and we insisted that they earn their success. And we are so proud that they have both embraced that belief in their own pursuits. Blaine works hard; and he’s always been an over-achiever. So when he told us that he had been accepted for the winter break study abroad program in London, we thought sure he’d come back with job offers. Instead, he came home with a fiancé.”

Blaine and Kurt held hands and looked at each other as the room filled with polite laughter, Blaine pulling Kurt’s knuckles to his lips for a brief kiss.

“When Blaine told us that he’d met someone, we figured it was as good a time as any to check in on the family’s apartment in Chelsea.

You know, see a couple of shows with Bitsy, visit with Blaine and, if we happened to meet this mystery man, well, so much the better,” Don continued.

“We didn’t realize that we’d meet a young man as impressive as Kurt. We knew immediately after meeting him why our Blaine had fallen in love with this smart, talented, independent young man.”

Carole took Burt’s hand and smiled, giving reassurance that maybe this toast was headed somewhere good.

“And while we were a little surprised at how fast this engagement happened,” Don said, pausing to raise an eyebrow at his son, “We could not be happier to welcome Kurt Hummel to the Anderson family.

“We also want to thank the Hummel-Hudsons, Burt and Carole, who have graciously opened their home to these nuptials. I think they would agree that we see the world a little differently, but we are all in the same corner supporting our sons’ happiness.

“And with that in mind, Bits and I felt that something was missing from this union, something we felt was important for a newly-married couple. You see, our boys are planning on heading right back to work after they get married this weekend, and that just doesn’t feel right.”

Kurt leaned toward Blaine to whisper, “Do you know where this is going?”

Blaine simply shook his head.

“Blaine, we know you’re concerned about your new job, and when we visited last month, we must confess we were there for more than just a studio tour. We got a chance to meet your boss.”

Don raised his glass to a well-dressed woman in her 40s lingering near the back of the room, martini in hand.

“And it seems that Olivia is very much a romantic. She thinks it’s a travesty for newlyweds to miss their honeymoon. So she’s agreed to give her rising star ten days off so he and his husband can get away.”

A deep, lusty female voice rose from the back corner. “And that’s all! I may be a romantic, but I’m no fool!”

The dinner crowd cheered. Kurt and Blaine hugged. Burt looked puzzled.

“So, next week, we’re flying the two of you to London so you can celebrate your marriage where you fell in love.”

Bitsy Anderson leaned over and pulled a small box, elegantly wrapped in flocked ivory paper with a black silk bow, from under the table.

“I hope you don’t mind the spoiler, son. The box contains your plane tickets and the keys to the apartment.”

Blaine wrapped his father in a bear hug, and planted a sweet kiss on his mother’s cheek. He turned and kissed Kurt.

Bitsy Anderson then turned her attention to Burt and Carole, winking in their direction. They both smiled and nodded in return, but the moment Bitsy looked away, Burt’s faced belied an undercurrent of panic.

“What’s wrong?” Carole asked quietly, holding his hand.

Burt shook his head.

“Up until a minute ago, I was pretty proud of the gift I got those guys,” he said.

“What are you talking about? The wedding is their gift, and they’ve been nothing but grateful.”

“Not that,” Burt said. “I got them something else I thought they’d really like.”

“On your own? What is it?”

Burt waited a beat before answering, then stared at the table and mumbled.

“A cappuccino maker.”

 

 

 

* * *

Carole cornered Bitsy before dessert was served. As Blaine’s mother excused herself to go to the restroom, Carole followed. Standing at the sinks a few moments later, she asked the question that had eaten at her for a couple of weeks.

“Bitsy, thank you so much for hosting the dinner. It’s been a wonderful evening, and Kurt and Blaine look like they’re really enjoying themselves,” she said.

“They do, don’t they?”

“But I’ve got to ask: why the change of heart? After our brunch, I wouldn’t have expected this.”

Bitsy took a moment to adjust her upswept hair.

“Carole, you and I really aren’t that different. We understand our husbands, and the art of negotiation.

“After you came out to the house, we saw what you were willing to do for them, to host the entire thing at your home. And your husband — so passionate about it. I knew we needed to do more. Don and I talked about it a lot. We still believe that our sons need to earn success on their own terms. But this is a wedding, not a career, and I just wanted Blaine to have the day he deserved.”

“So it was your idea,” Carole said.

“No,” Bitsy said, adding a last touch of lipstick, then turning to Carole. “It was Don’s decision as much as it was mine. It may have taken him a little time to come around, but he was on board, 100 percent.”

Carole smiled. She doubted that Bitsy was being entirely honest, that she may be protective of her husband, and she’d probably never know for sure. And she also suspected that Bitsy was well aware of her doubts, and simply didn’t care.

“Shall we?” she said, opening the door.

 

 

 

* * *

It started innocently enough hours earlier.

Rachel saw the sign outside the bar advertising “Karaoke Thursdays,” and it progressed into a near obsession over the course of the evening.

By the time dessert was served, she had committed half of her high school friends and more than a few strangers into a round of what

Blaine’s former Dalton classmates called “Battle Karaoke.”

“The theme is love songs for Kurt and Blaine,” she announced to the bar, nearly completely populated with wedding party and guests.

There was little doubt this was more about Rachel singing the Celine Dion songbook than it was about love, but they paid little concern — or attention — to her rules.

They agreed to a friendly competition — former New Directions versus former Warblers, celebrating Kurt and Blaine’s engagement. Of course, the format separated the fiancés on to opposing teams, something Rachel hadn’t considered. Blaine sat to on side of the bar with his former classmates. Kurt relocated to the bar at the back of the room.

Rachel stepped up first, to no one’s surprise.

“I’d like to dedicate this to the grooms — my roommate and his future husband,” she said to the opening bars to _My Heart Will Go On_.

Kurt stood waiting for his drink and rolling his eyes. He enjoyed a good Celine ballad as much as the next guy, but Titanic? At a wedding rehearsal?

Burt pulled up alongside him, and surveyed the room.

“I think Carole and I are going to take our cues from Blaine’s folks and hit the road,” he said, pausing for a moment to listen to Rachel, then cringing with recognition of the song. “Isn’t that the song from when the ship sank and everyone died?”

“In her mind, it’s a great romantic gesture, even if it looks like it’s just an excuse to get in front of an audience,” Kurt said, nodding.

“Ultimately, she means well.”

He looked across the room, by the tables of ex-Warblers.

Several girls — including a few New Directions alums — circled Blaine, giggling and fawning, enamored with _Days of Our Time_ ’s resident bad boy doctor. And while they congratulated him on his engagement, their disappointment that the young man with the matinee idol looks may play a womanizer on TV, but was a one-man man in real life was readily obvious.

Burt watched with a sort of awe.

“This happen all the time?”

“Welcome to my world.”

Blaine looked across the room to Kurt, part _I love you_ and part _Get me out of here_. Kurt winked, and smiled, and didn’t lift a finger to break it up.

“People are just drawn to him. Sometimes, it’s attraction. Sometimes, it’s the show. A lot of the time it’s just _him_. I don’t think he can really help it.”

Kurt’s eyes didn’t leave Blaine, or vice versa.

Rachel wrapped up the dramatic ballad, thumping her fist to her chest, _Celine-style_ , and then beckoning the next contestant to the stage.

“Someone called him an ‘attention whore’ once, but they had it all wrong. Blaine doesn’t seek this out, any more than any other performer does. He just has that _thing_ , that combination of looks and personality and talent and gravitational pull. And you know what, Dad? It’s real. It’s just who he is. Don’t get me wrong. He’s not perfect. He has his moments.”

“So do you, Kurt.”

“Exactly. We balance each other out. But everything you see, Dad? It’s real. It’s Blaine. I know I lose patience with it sometimes. I can get frustrated. But when it comes right down to it, it’s one of the reasons why I love him.”

“So women...?”

“Love him.”

“And men?”

“Love him,” Kurt said with a hint of a sigh.

Burt assessed his son with a _Does that mean what I think it means?_ look.

“... Both straight and gay,” Kurt added, anticipating the response. “The gay men want him, the straight men want to go to a ballgame with him. Maybe they figure they’ll get all the women who get discouraged.”

“Well, I can tell you one thing,” Burt said, looking at Blaine, who continued to look over to Kurt, even as he answered the girls’ questions.

“He only has eyes for you.

“Hey, enjoy yourselves tonight, and try not to stay out too late.”

Kurt arched an eyebrow at him.

“Point taken,” Burt said, patting Kurt on the back and waving goodbye to Blaine.

Kurt listened to another love ballad before walking over to Blaine and making excuses to the impromptu entourage. “If you’ll pardon us for a moment, ladies, I’d like a word with my fiancé.”

Blaine’s face lit up with relief as Kurt pulled him towards the bar. Meanwhile, Rachel took the stage again, acting as a de facto emcee for the evening.

“Have we got a Warbler who can top a Celine Dion love song? Hmmm?”

“We have got to do something about this,” Kurt whispered in his ear. “She’s going to kill the party.”

Blaine gave him a sideways glance, followed by a smirk.

“I may have an idea,” Blaine said, and walked over to Wes, the former Warbler leader and one of his closest friends. He tapped Wes’ shoulder and leaned in for a brief conversation.

Wes soon stood up and, taking a couple Dalton alums with him, headed for the stage. Blaine walked back to Kurt near the back of the room.

“This should do it,” he said.

Rachel reluctantly turned over the mic, unhappy that the men would not tell her what they planned to sing.

She stepped aside, and a medium-tempo disco beat burst from the speakers.

> _I believe in miracles_   
>  _Where you from?_   
>  [ _You sexy thing_ ](http://open.spotify.com/track/26mDHU83VNkobcI4BadliK)

Kurt looked to the side of the stage where Rachel stood, jaw dropped and locked, looking appalled.  
Blaine’s face had the satisfied look of victory. He began to shake his ass, dancing in place and singing to Kurt.

> _Kiss me, you sexy thing_   
>  _Touch me baby, you sexy thing_   
>  _I love the way you touch me darling_   
>  _You sexy thing_

The song finished, ex-Warblers slapping each other on the backs as Rachel marched back to center stage.

“Well, that was interesting. Maybe a _love song_ next time.”

Kurt and Blaine looked at each other. She wasn’t going to stop.

“Maybe what we need is a little side bet,” Kurt told him. “Five bucks to whoever silences her with song.”

“You’re on.”

Blaine immediately headed to the stage, a man on a mission, to the cheers of his friends.

“Ah, here we go!” Rachel said, clapping her hands. “ _Now_ we’ll get a love song.”

Blaine smiled politely and walked over to the control station, making his song request. He stepped to the mic and introduced the song.

“This is a very special song that I want to sing to my future husband,” he said, winking at Kurt. Blaine set his vocal tone to _growl_. Most anyone in the bar could name that tune in two notes.

> _I’ve been really trying baby_   
>  _Trying to hold back this feeling for so long_   
>  _And if you feel like I feel baby_   
>  _Then come on, come on_   
>  [ _Let’s get it on_ ](http://open.spotify.com/track/0jHkgTtTaqg5LNCiYDQPUB)

He set the mic stand aside, and started to move to the thumping beat, grinding his hips, bobbing his head and letting out an occasional guttural “Ooowww” as the song crescendoed.

To the side stage, Rachel stood with arms crossed, her face a crimson red.

As the song ended, the bar crowd roared its approval, and Blaine set the microphone back in the stand with a little bow and the smile of a five-year-old who just snuck a cookie out of the jar behind his mother’s back.

But it did not deter Rachel, who stormed back on stage.

“I think it’s time for me to sing another love ballad — since _that’s_ the theme tonight.”

“Wait up!” Kurt called out from the back of the room. He raced to the stage. “My fiancé just sang to me. Since we’re competing — just for this one night — I think it’s my turn.”

The look on her face made it clear that Rachel now knew what to expect. She shook her head and walked off the stage just as the speakers started to pound.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled as she left the stage. “Heavy metal.” It was absolutely the last straw.[ _  
_](http://open.spotify.com/track/0LN0ASTtcGIbNTnjSHG6eO)

By the time the chorus rolled around, the entire crowd was on its feet, singing along with Kurt, who shimmied along as he sang

> [ _Pour some sugar on me_ ](http://open.spotify.com/track/0LN0ASTtcGIbNTnjSHG6eO)   
>  _In the name of love_   
>  _Pour some sugar on me_   
>  _C’mon bind me up_   
>  _Pour some sugar on me_   
>  _I can’t get enough_

Blaine took his wallet from his jacket pocket, and pulled out a five-dollar bill.

 

 

 

* * *


	11. The Final Stretch

_There are few times in my life when I have felt more useless, more in the way, less in control than in the hours leading up to my son’s wedding._

_And that seems to be the rule for wedding preparations, because while the mortgage on this house says “Burt Hummel,” it was pretty clear that for at least one weekend, I had little say about what, or how, or why._

_Oh, they’ll tell you that the father of the groom plays a critical role in any wedding, but they’re referring to that moment at the altar when you agree to give your child away — something Kurt wanted omitted from his ceremony anyway. My job was to walk him to his fiancé — and then get the hell out of the way._

 

 

* * *

Blaine had spent most of the day before the wedding with his family: brunch with his parents and extended family, haircuts with his brother Cooper. But he excused himself mid-afternoon to stop by the Hummel household, offering to help with the last minute wedding preparations and running out with Kurt to pick up pizzas for the family whose kitchen was currently under siege.

“You know you’re not supposed to be here,” Kurt said, as Blaine pulled him into a quiet corner for a kiss.

“You have my tux,” he responded, nipping at Kurt’s ear. “Am I supposed to walk down the aisle in my briefs?”

“Well... “ Kurt said, considering the possibilities.

“Besides, we’re not at the 24-hour mark yet, and that was the pact.”

After that, Blaine did everything in his power to stretch the limits of their agreement not to see each other for 24 hours before the ceremony, as well as the conventions of time.

He arranged chairs. He dusted the already spotless living room. He convinced the catering team to let him help organize the kitchen. He set up an impromptu picnic dinner of delivery pizza and beer for the family, which had largely been kicked out of their living space for the evening.

And with all that done, already more than four hours into their private time, he took Kurt by the hand and walked him to a nearby park to watch the stars and spend a few quiet moments together before the chaos that would be their wedding day.

They walked in silence past the playgrounds and ball fields to a hillside overlooking a pond, and settled in to take in the stars. After long moments of silence, Blaine reached for Kurt’s fingertips.

“You ready for this?”

“Of course,” Kurt said. “I’ve been ready since I was six years old.”

“You know what I mean,” Blaine said, rolling on his side to look down on Kurt. “Are _we_ ready for this? Everyone — _and I mean everyone_ — keeps saying how fast this happened. Are we doing the right thing?”

It didn’t seem to faze Kurt, who only briefly took his eyes off the luminescent night sky to look at Blaine.

“Are you having second thoughts?”

“Not on your life,” he answered quickly. “You?”

Kurt leaned his head and cracked one of his patented _I’ve got a secret_ smiles.

“I think that tomorrow night, when I look up at that sky, it’ll be during my first dance with my husband.”

Blaine sighed, and leaned in for a kiss.

“Uh-uh. Not tonight, Blaine.”

“Not even a kiss?”

“Nope, we’re in the 24-hour window. No physical contact, mister. I shouldn’t even be here with you right now.”

“I just wanted to kiss you, Kurt.”

Kurt’s smile just got bigger. He rolled over to face Blaine, placing a finger to his lips.

“And just imagine how it will feel knowing that the next time you kiss me, I’ll be your husband?”

Blaine kissed his finger, and stared into his eyes, the smoldering stare, his go-to move when he wanted more than a little kiss.

“You cheated,” Kurt said. “And I know what you’re doing and _no_ , it’s not going to work, not tonight.”

Blaine dipped his chin, holding the glance, looking up through his lashes — one last-ditch effort to convince Kurt that a little make-out session the night before his wedding wouldn’t kill him.

Kurt wasn’t buying it. Not tonight.

“Not on your life, mister. Come on. We’re going home, you’re picking up your tux and then you’re heading over to the Holiday Inn for the night.”

Kurt stood up, tugging at Blaine’s hand.

“You saw the tux?”

“Of course not. I had Finn take it in to the cleaners to be steamed and made sure he brought it back in a suit bag so I couldn’t see it. It kind of defeats the purpose of our pact if the tux is sitting around in clear plastic, doesn’t it?”

They had decided early on to each select their own tux, agreeing only on the color — traditional black — to surprise each other on their wedding day. This initially required some convincing of Kurt, who had a wealth of ideas of how he would like to see his future husband dressed on The Big Day. He had presented them, a PDF of scanned images and sketches and notes, as a digital presentation, when they first started discussing attire.

“Kurt, I appreciate it, but I’d really like to choose my own tux,” Blaine had protested. “I do a decent job dressing myself usually, right?”

“I just want to make sure we look good together,” Kurt said.

“We _always_ look good together,” Blaine said, nuzzling Kurt’s jaw line. “But wouldn’t it be nice to surprise each other, just a little? I promise to keep it classy.”

“You always do. But what if I show up in, I don’t know, maybe a kilt?”

Blaine arched his eyebrows.

“Really? You know, traditionally, men didn’t wear anything under their kilts.”

“And you believe in tradition.”

“ _Always_ ,” he said, kissing Kurt’s cheek.

Kurt simply rolled his eyes, and maybe tilted his head just enough to encourage Blaine to keep kissing.

“I suspect I should wear pants. You know those late afternoon breezes we get over here.”

“Pity,” Blaine said, laughing. “Really, Kurt, so long as it’s you in there, I really don’t care what you wear.”

By the time of the wedding, Kurt was so on board with The Wedding Pact that it had become the centerpiece of his insistence that the two grooms stay apart in the hours before the ceremony. And as Kurt’s enthusiasm for the plan waxed, Blaine’s waned — especially as

Kurt pulled him from the grass and insisted they part for the night.

“By the time we see each other again, it’ll be at the altar,” he said, pulling Blaine close enough to lean their heads together as they walked home. “We’re almost there.”

 

 

 

* * *


	12. The Big Day

Burt’s success navigating the now-unfamiliar confines of his home did not improve with the arrival of the wedding day. He had hours to kill, and really saw no need spending all of them getting ready when all it really involved was throwing on a tux and combing what remained of his hair.

But he had little room or choice of what he could do in lieu of wedding preparations. The living room was completely devoid of furniture, his favorite chair and even his television being placed in storage over the weekend. He couldn’t graze in the kitchen, as each attempt to sneak into the refrigerator was accompanied by an admonishment by the catering team, which had arrived early to begin food prep.

He couldn’t even go upstairs to relax. Kurt had commandeered the bedrooms as dressing and hair/makeup stations for the wedding party.

He stepped outside and visited the reception tent — where wait staff politely encouraged him to leave while they staged tables and decorations.

So he gave up, shoving his hands in his pockets and strolling the perimeter of the property to the old glider he had set up years before, a quiet place he used to use to drink coffee and read the Sunday morning funny pages.

He sat down and used his heels to push the seat back, swinging lightly and closing his eyes to shut out the hubbub that surrounded him. He finally began to feel at peace when the sound of a car driving on gravel pulled up to the back gate, music pulsing through its stereo. Burt heard one door open and shut, then another, until he saw Blaine, in jeans and a polo, suit bag in hand, beginning to scale the back gate.

“Whoa! Hold up there, son! Let me help you.”

“Ah, don’t worry, sir, I’ve done this dozens of...” Blaine stopped mid-sentence, hoping Burt hadn’t caught it, but it was too late.

“And when exactly was that, Blaine?” he asked, chuckling to himself.

“What I mean is a couple of times when Kurt and I needed to... discuss wedding plans... late at night...” Blaine stammered. “We didn’t want to wake anyone, so we’d meet back here.”

“I got it, Blaine. ‘Nuf said. But why are you parking back here today?”

“I didn’t want Kurt to see me, sir.”

“Burt.”

“Yes, sir. Burt.”

“And why not? Is this part of that whole ‘wedding pact’ he was going on about?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“So, if Kurt’s not going to see you before the wedding, where exactly did he expect you to get dressed?”

“Apparently, the Holiday Inn,” Blaine said, sounding a bit put out.

“And where were you thinking about getting ready?”

“Maybe the basement?” Blaine asked, shrugging. He clearly had already thought this out. “I figure Kurt will be busy upstairs.”

Burt laughed.

“I have a couple of friends who are coming over to do the girls’ hair and makeup, and they’ve agreed to keep an eye on Kurt for me to make sure he doesn’t go downstairs.”

“So all we have to do is get you and your tux into the house.”

“Pretty much.”

“Count me in,” Burt said.

 _Finally. A job. Something a parent is good at, too — deception. After all those Christmases hiding gifts and trying to keep up the ruse of Santa, this was something I knew and knew well_.

 

 

 

* * *

Burt had it all figured out. He would distract Kurt for a wedding day chat about marriage. To be honest, it was something he had wanted to do anyway, some private time with his son before he became a married man.

The fact that it would also serve as a stealth mission to secure some private space for Blaine made it that much better, Burt figured. He enjoyed some harmless covert ops here and there, even if it was just to get a fella a dressing room.

He marched through the front door and looked up the staircase. He could hear the hubbub of chattering voices from the bedrooms as he climbed the stairs.

“Hey, Kurt! You up there? Gotta minute?”

He reached the landing just as Kurt poked his head out from his bedroom door.

“Dad? Why aren’t you dressed? You’re going to have hat hair.”

Burt pulled off his cap and pointed at his thinning pate. “I don’t think we have much to worry about on that front. Hey, you got a second? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

With that, he pulled his son down the hall for a chat, ostensibly to impart a little wedding day knowledge, father-to-son.

Blaine eavesdropped from the front door. The moment he saw Burt’s feet disappear down the upstairs hallway, he made his move.

He had to move fast, because Kurt doubled back toward the staircase almost immediately.

“Dad, there’s a lot going on right now. Can this wait?”

“You know, this is a big day.”

“I realize that, Dad.”

“And I just think it’s a good time for a little father-son talk.”

“You’ve already given me the sex talk, Dad. We’re good.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” Burt said, a little chagrined. “Marriage, it’s a big step, Kurt. It’s the rest of your life, or at least it’s supposed to be.”

Kurt stopped for a moment and considered his father’s words, then looked him square in the eye.

“Do you have reservations about this? I thought you liked Blaine.”

“I like Blaine plenty, Kurt. He’s family. It’s just after today, everything changes.”

Kurt smiled — a slight, simple up-tilt at the end of his lip that only hinted at how deeply the words had connected.

“I know, Dad. I know.”

He gave Burt a hug, then dashed back into his room. A moment later, he popped his head out the door.

“Dad?”

“Yes Kurt?”

“Blaine should be here pretty soon. Could you make sure he stays out of the house? We’re not supposed to see each other until right before the ceremony.”

Burt chuckled.

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

Kurt started to close the door again, then stopped suddenly.

“And Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll have lots of time later today.”

 

 

 

* * *

_But that was the point — we wouldn’t. I’d been through this before, twice. And once that ticker is running, there’s no squeezing in anything other than what your schedule and your wedding planner tells you._

_It was the day I’d dreaded for 21 years, the day that Kurt was no longer my little boy, that he moved on — the day he left me for someone new. And by the end of the night, it would be too late. He’d be half of a married couple, and learning these lessons for himself._

 

 

 

* * *

The wedding would be held in the back garden, freshly spruced up with potted roses and freshly planted ranunculus and daisies. Two aisles of white folding chairs were neatly arranged for the guests, separated at the center by a white runner that led to a rustic arch Kurt had rented, then festooned with summer blooms and tea lights.

He had strung paper lanterns from the trees in an array of shapes and bright summer colors, looking for like an airborne field of summer wildflowers. Each lantern was lit by a tiny electric candle, the type that could be triggered by remote control. Kurt reasoned that it would not only guard against fire, but also allowed the lanterns to light simultaneously, just as the judge declared them married.

A musical trio set up to the left of the proceedings — keyboards, guitar and a bass — serving as little more than accessories to Mercedes’ soulful voice. She had quickly agreed to sing the processional, [_Ribbon in the Sky_](http://open.spotify.com/track/1ps4QxOmu0tpoVMoEDoVeR), prompting a minor eruption by Rachel. Kurt had anticipated this from his diva-esque roommate, even planned for it.

“That’s fine, Rachel. You can sing at our wedding,” he had said to his one-time roommate. “But if you do, you can’t also be my ‘Best Girl’. It’s one or the other, and I’ll let you choose.”

As he expected, she huffed and glared, but ultimately choose to stand at his side in the ceremony, seemingly deciding that the “Best” of anything was better than being a simple wedding singer.

Besides, she fully intended to grab the mic and sing a few songs at the reception.

 

 

 

* * *

If the guests expected to see the moment when the grooms saw each other for the first time on their wedding day, Kurt and Blaine had other ideas. Despite the wedding pact, they also knew that they wanted to reserve that moment exclusively for themselves. It was a departure from tradition, but neither wanted to suggest parallels with a wedding between a man and a woman.

“We’re equals,” Kurt had said, explaining the plan to Burt. “Both going into the wedding, and coming out married. Besides, we’re making our own traditions here.”

The pact was detailed on this point. When the rest of the wedding party gathered before the start of the ceremony, Kurt and Blaine would meet on the front porch, each approaching from opposite sides of the house. No one else would be there. Not family, not friends, not photographers. This was their moment and their moment alone, and Kurt was insistent that they would not see each other until that very second when they exchanged simple, white Freesia boutonnieres.

As confounding and downright silly as it felt to Blaine leading up to the wedding day, it all washed away the moment they saw each other.

Blaine had kept his promise, and adhered to his usual fashion sense: a traditional Hugo Boss tux, trim cut and tailored to accent his slim waist. He wore a crisp white formalwear shirt with French cuffs and black buttons, tailored to fit like a second skin, and accented it with a slim bow tie. With the help of stylist friends who had offered their help for the wedding, his sometimes-unruly mop of curls had been swept into a soft pompadour. He looked like a Hollywood icon on Oscar night.

As promised, simple and elegant.

Kurt did not feel so constrained.

Working with his contacts at Vogue, he designed the tux himself. He wanted — no, insisted — that this suit be one-of-a-kind, as was appropriate to the occasion.

He started with a traditional base — a narrow box-cut tuxedo jacket — and added the Kurt Hummel touch. From a distance, it looked like brocade, but on closer inspection it became clear that he had made two jackets, overlaying a thickly woven black Venetian lace on top of a base of stiff black taffeta. Beyond that, he remained fairly conventional, with traditional tuxedo slacks and a bow tie of black silk — one dramatic piece, set against a neutral background.

It was everything Blaine loved about him, wrapped up in taffeta and lace: adventurous, daring, chic, bold, handsome.

Blaine’s breath hitched, just for a moment, as he approached. Kurt kicked lightly at the ground like a soft-show routine, swaying softly from side to side. Blaine simply stared with wonder. Kurt looked away, bit his lip momentarily, and then looked up, a grin spreading across his face. He knew he looked good. The custom tux, the time with the stylists, the secrecy — it had all accomplished its purpose in those few seconds.

He looked Blaine up and down, and reached up to brush away a small leaf that had blown on to his shoulder.

“You look like a modern-day Cary Grant, with a little young Elvis thrown in,” he said.

Blaine leaned in closer, brushing his nose against the curve of Kurt’s ear.

“You look like a once-in-a-lifetime Kurt Hummel.”

 

* * *

The guests made their way to their seats just as the sun prepared to set, and the wedding party took its place.

First, the parents: Bitsy and Don to the left, Burt and Carole to the right. Both women wore colors of the summer season, as Kurt had requested. Bitsy in softly flowing lemon chiffon and Carole in a classic A-line of embroidered tangerine charmeuse.

Cooper and Rachel moved next, walking slowly together to the music. Rachel maintained a poised if not slightly rehearsed smile all the way to the arbor. Cooper grinned and nodded at friends.

After an intentional pause, the music trio relaxed. The guests stood and turned toward the top of the aisle, where Kurt and Blaine stood, side-by-side.

Blaine looked over to the audio-visual support tech at the soundboard — a cue for his surprise, a gift for his husband-to-be.

The sound of trumpets filled the darkening sky: [_Trumpet Voluntary_](http://open.spotify.com/track/1gVJHoKXvYnLlw72fAhqqa). 

Kurt looked to Blaine, a smile creasing his face with recognition of the music that had accompanied royal weddings.

“You didn’t!”

Blaine leaned in to whisper in his ear, a sly smile gracing his face.

“Happy wedding day.”

Kurt took his hand and they walked together, paced in time with the regal trumpet flourishes, to the altar.

 

 

  
* * *

_When it came right down to it, the ceremony was pretty much to the point. My job was simple, and I was determined not to screw it up._

_The officiant was an old friend, a local judge who had supported me when Kurt’s mom died, and who supported me again when I ran for Congress. He had one question for me: “Who presents this man, Kurt Hummel?”_

_It was my only job in the entire ceremony._

_“I do,” I said, and stepped back from the altar, my job as father complete._

_Who presents this man? This MAN. But he’s just a boy, the boy that I taught to ride a bicycle; the boy I took to ballet class; the boy I raised after his mother passed._

_Kurt and Blaine exchanged their own vows, with words that were something borrowed and something new. Both said a few words they had written about their relationship and about love, and then recited something special to them. Blaine recited[Shakespeare’s Sonnet 91](http://nfs.sparknotes.com/sonnets/sonnet_91.html).  _

_Kurt used a passage from Love, Loss and What I Wore as the theme for his moment. I wasn’t too sure about it when he first told me his plans. I mean, I had no idea what it was, but from the love-struck look on Blaine’s face, it must have hit just the right note._

_No doubt about it, that boy was smitten._

_They only stopped holding hands long enough to exchange rings. From time to time, I saw Blaine rub his thumb over Kurt’s knuckles, something I had seen since the first night he stopped by for dinner. Yet it was the first time I’d really noticed it. It seemed to steady Kurt rather than distract him, and inevitably caused him to turn and look at Blaine with such... love. I have never seen his face look so warm, and so at peace._

_And suddenly, as if no time had passed at all, it was the moment, the moment it became official. The moment I had braced myself for:_

_“Under the power vested in me by the state of Ohio, I now pronounce you legally married. Misters Hummel-Anderson, you may kiss.”_

_They held hands, and just... stared at each other for a moment. Carole reached her hand through the crook of my elbow and rested her head on my shoulder._

_Then they kissed. It was over._

_Kurt beamed. Blaine smiled, and looked down for a moment as if self-conscious about the attention. Then he looked at Kurt, and took his arm, and they walked together back up the aisle._

_Our guests — all 165 of them — stood and applauded, and I did my level best to take a deep breath, smile, and keep it together._

* * *

The party quickly converged on the reception tent, really more of a giant tented gazebo. Draped with wide swaths of tulle and what must have been thousands of twinkle lights, it looked like a children’s garden fantasy come to life.

The guests lined up for their seating assignments almost immediately. They were organized in rounds of eight, each table dressed in white, but decorated with sprays of summer flowers, following the brightly hued theme of the wedding.

And while Burt didn’t get his barbecue dinner, Blaine did convince Kurt to scale back his original menu plan and serve a simple, elegant — and affordable — chilled poached salmon with a salad of baby field greens. The meal was complimented with pink sparkling wine, a blush much like the one across Kurt’s cheeks.

The grooms disappeared with the photographer after the ceremony, taking advantage of the last remnants of rich color in the twilight summer sky for wedding day portraits.

When they arrived at the reception, they were seated at the head table overlooking the reception, along with the rest of the wedding party.

Only part of the party was missing. Burt got caught up in the crowd, and had yet to make it to his seat.

 

 

* * *

_It was unbelievable. I’d never seen a line form so fast._

_It was as if they knew what the food was costing me._

_I finally made it into the tent only because the boys showed up. Their appearance was like the parting of the Red Sea in the crowd at the rear of the reception area, and it finally gave me the chance to catch up with Carole and maybe get some dinner._

 

 

* * *

The meal finished, the toasts completed — Rachel had cried telling a meandering tale of their close-but-competitive relationship; Cooper had embarrassed his mother by sharing a decidedly R-rated story of brotherly antics — and attention shifted to the dance floor.

Instruments lined the center stage, with a deejay rig to the side. The grooms had not intended to hire a band, but with so many friends in entertainment — and so many egos at stake — there was no way they would get away with recorded music alone.

So they simply let it evolve, and old friends shared the stage, pretending not to try to show each other up, singing a range of love songs, show tunes and pop classics. During breaks, a deejay took control, luring guests to the dance floor with thumping beats.

Burt caught only the occasional glimpse of Kurt throughout. He was determined to share the experience, but whenever the grooms moved to a designated corner of the tent for another “moment” — the slicing of the cake, the joint tossing of a summer bouquet — Burt would find himself pushed aside by a crowd of enthusiastic guests.

It was only in one of those moments when the deejay took control, and urged the crowd to “make room for the wedding party” that Burt found himself face-to-face with his bright-eyed son.

“And now, let’s welcome the Hummel-Andersons for their first dance as husbands,” the deejay said. Mercedes stepped to the mic, and the simple piano intro of Whitney Houston’s [_I Believe in You and Me_](http://open.spotify.com/track/1kwNHkKXJ4c4MchgATAOBJ) filled the warm night air. 

The grooms smiled, Blaine dusted his fingertips over Kurt’s collar. Then they pulled each other close, Blaine tucking his nose into the base of Kurt’s neck.

> _I believe in you and me_   
>  _I believe that we will be_   
>  _In love eternally_   
>  _As far as I can see_   
>  _You will always be the one_   
>  _For me_

As he watched the men sway, oblivious to the crowd watching them, Burt felt a hand weave its way into his.

He looked down.

Carole stood by his side, a tear rolling down her cheek.

The song drew to a close, and the deejay urged the parents and “best people” to the floor. Blaine took Bitsy’s hand and steered her to the floor.

He pulled his mother into a proper waltz hold, just as he’d been taught in cotillion years before.

“Do I get to see that ring now?” Bitsy asked, smiling. He pulled his arm from around her waist, giving her a little practiced twirl in the process.

As she faced him again, he held out his left hand, ringed finger on display.

“A puzzle ring...”

“I’m sorry about keeping it a secret,” Blaine said. “We just wanted to keep a couple of things to ourselves.”

“It’s lovely,” she said. “And Kurt’s?”

“Matches, just with the pieces inverted.” He looked down at his mother, and saw tears starting to form in her eyes. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Sweetheart, I’m better than okay,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I’m just so proud of you. And I’m so sorry about any doubts...”

“Don’t apologize, mom. If I’d been on the outside looking in, I would have felt the same way. But I knew, almost from the moment I met him. He’s such a good man, and it’s just so... right.”

“I know, baby. I know. We see it, too. I promise you, we do.”

 

* * *

As Blaine danced off with his mother, Kurt approached Carole, but he wasn’t seeking a dance. “Would you mind...?”

“He’s all yours, Kurt,” she answered.

Kurt took Burt’s hand, letting his father lead. It was his boy band song, the one Burt had heard Blaine tease Kurt about that night weeks ago. 

> _You’ll never know_   
>  _What you’ve done for me_   
>  _What your faith in me_   
>  _Has done for my soul..._

The grin spread wide across Kurt’s face.  
He had selected the [N-SYNC song](http://open.spotify.com/track/679kEY6AiqHRbKjsX7zhZN) specifically for Burt

> _Through the days ahead_   
>  _I think of days before_   
>  _You made me hope for something better_   
>  _And made me reach for something more_

Don Anderson invited Carole to the floor, and led her in a friendly waltz. They were soon joined by Cooper and Rachel, the entire wedding party now on the floor.

Kurt began to sing along, sweetly serenading his father.

> _What you taught me_   
>  _Only your love could ever teach me_   
>  _You got through when no one could reach me_   
>  _Cause you always saw in me_   
>  _All the best that I could be_   
>  _It was you who set me free_

Burt felt tears building in his eyes, and then a tap on his shoulder. Blaine was waiting, Carole by his side. Don and Bitsy were now dancing together, and his new son-in-law was asking to cut in.

It was the last moment of privacy he would have with his son that night, but it wasn’t a request he could decline.

“Here you go, son,” he said to Blaine.

“Thank you, Burt.”

 

* * *

The ceremony of the reception largely concluded, the guests soon took over the dance floor. This was a group that had come to party.

True to expectations, Rachel grabbed the mic partway through the evening and to sing the “wedding-appropriate” love songs she’d hoped to hear at karaoke night.

There was more patience for the toned-down ballads at the reception than there had been at the restaurant, especially with the deejay filling in the musical gaps with Bruno Mars and Beyoncé.

As the evening grew late, Blaine — tie loosened and draped along the front of his dress shirt — took the stage.

“We’re going to have to hit the road soon, but before we do, there was something we wanted to share with everyone,” he said, Kurt joining him at his side. “In fact, this was going to be a surprise for my husband, but he found me out. So instead, we thought we’d sing this together as a way of saying thank you to everyone here to celebrate with us today, and especially to Burt and Carole for making this night possible. Without them, this reception might have been dessert at BreadStix.”

Burt knew the song instantly, not because it was one of his favorites, but because it was from a film Kurt had watched ceaselessly as a teenager, before he was comfortable in his own skin, before he became the confident leader in his circle of friends. Before he fell in love.

When Kurt watched _Moulin Rouge_ on an endless loop as a teen, and [_Come What May_](http://open.spotify.com/track/71uooZMVlBrasX2SJp6mQZ) represented all that Kurt hoped for one day. Today, singing it as a duet with his new husband, it was a song of dreams fulfilled.

The crowd was silent, nearly breathless until the song’s end, when the guests erupted in applause. The grooms waved, blew kiss or two, and left in a chauffeured Town Car that was waiting to take them to the airport.

 

 

* * *

_I had tried — and failed — to position myself close enough to the risers to say goodbye, to have one last moment before Kurt and Blaine left for their honeymoon._

_But people kept pressing forward, and other stopped me to say congratulations and say what a beautiful wedding it had been — and it had. But I didn’t have time for that, not right then._

_I was nearly blinded by the glitter being tossed from the staircase, and couldn’t seem to find my way to where I needed to be._

_I got there too late. I was too far from the small staircase leading up the risers to say goodbye to the boys before they caught their flight to New York._

_He was gone, my Kurt was gone, and I was too late to say goodbye._

_Carole tried to make it better by telling me how happy he was going to be, what a good man Blaine was, how they’re so in love._

_She was right, of course, and there was little doubt we would hear from Kurt while they were away. He always stayed in touch, even when he was on the road._

 

 

 

* * *


	13. The Aftermath

Burt toed off his dress shoes and collapsed in a folding chair, no substitute for his favorite easy chair, but it would have to make do this one time. He looked around, stymied and silent, surveying the damage: napkins on the ground, wine bottles stacked high in recycling bins and glittery confetti spilled across tablecloths.

Blaine had warned him about the latter. “It could have been worse, but I talked him down,” he had said one day, as the two sat watching baseball. “He wanted exploding balloons full of glitter.”

Burt’s moment of silence was interrupted by the harsh ring of the telephone. He picked it up and heard the din of voices in the background.

“Dad?”

“Where are you?” Burt asked.

“We’re at the airport. Our flight’s going to be leaving soon.”

Burt couldn’t find the words, any words, so he stayed mute.

“I just wanted to say thank you, Dad. Thank you for everything. It means so much to us, and to me.”

“You’re welcome, Kurt.”

“And, Dad?”

“Yes, Kurt?”

“I love you.”

Burt choked down tears.

“I love you too, Kurt.”

“They just called our flight. I have to go.”

“You be safe, okay, buddy?”

“Okay, Dad.”

Burt heard a click, but held the phone to his ear for long seconds after the call ended. He felt a hand cover his around the receiver, and gently pry the phone from his hand.

Carole set the handset back on the phone, then rested both hands on Burt’s shoulder, and kissed his forehead.

“You know, we hardly got a chance to dance tonight,” she said.

Burt sat still for a moment, stoic, before allowing a grin to slowly creep across his face. He looked up, then rose, turning to face her.

“May I have this dance?” he said, holding out his hands in invitation.

Barefoot and glittered, Burt took his bride into his arms and began to sway to the sound of an imagined song.

 

 

 

 

* * *


	14. The Playlist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What’s a wedding without music? The Father of the Groom Playlist is a compilation of songs referenced in the story and or simply listened to for inspiration while writing. It’s from Spotify, so my apologies to those outside the U.S. who may have trouble accessing it.

[_(Today I Met) The Boy I’m Gonna Marry_](http://open.spotify.com/track/2VVH86uKy0U84loFlseCR2)      —     Darlene Love  
[ _Finally_](http://open.spotify.com/track/1oy6a9sMQvHorVZg65g4AS)                                                        —     Ce Ce Peniston  
[ _Lovely Day_](http://open.spotify.com/track/6Pi1WqBTTSjtl6BWHQSccH)                                                 —     Bill Withers  
[ _Your Love Is King_](http://open.spotify.com/track/05te51jEM1sj7wil6zVG2d)                                       —     Sade  
[ _Marry You_ ](http://open.spotify.com/track/22PMfvdz35fFKYnJyMn077)                                                 —     Bruno Mars  
[ _At Last_ ](http://open.spotify.com/track/1hXIdXjAI4nWz4qnJ28iO2)                                                      —     Etta James  
[ _The Very Thought of You_](http://open.spotify.com/track/6wzjvduRuQKNRR6FhXBg4r)                           —     Elvis Costello  
[ _Let’s Stay Together_ ](http://open.spotify.com/track/1eOVWJGzeH8vtM1ScjpIUL)                                   —     Al Green  
[ _You’re The First, The Last, My Everything_](http://open.spotify.com/track/7wieLOhKGx34dkQYY1n9Nk)   —     Barry White  
[ _Crazy in Love_](http://open.spotify.com/track/5IVuqXILoxVWvWEPm82Jxr)                                             —     Beyoncé  
[ _You Sexy Thing_](http://open.spotify.com/track/26mDHU83VNkobcI4BadliK)                                          —     Hot Chocolate  
[ _Let’s Get It On_](http://open.spotify.com/track/0jHkgTtTaqg5LNCiYDQPUB)                                            —     Marvin Gaye  
[ _Pour Some Sugar On Me_](http://open.spotify.com/track/0LN0ASTtcGIbNTnjSHG6eO)                             —     Def Leppard  
[ _Chapel of Love_](http://open.spotify.com/track/4JchWgAG3RZmCLHcEGf9DZ)                                           —     The Dixie Cups  
[ _Ribbon in the Sky_ ](http://open.spotify.com/track/1ps4QxOmu0tpoVMoEDoVeR)                                      —     Stevie Wonder  
[ _Trumpet Voluntary in D Major_ ](http://open.spotify.com/track/1gVJHoKXvYnLlw72fAhqqa)                   —     The Royal Philharmonic  
[ _I Believe in You and Me_ ](http://open.spotify.com/track/1kwNHkKXJ4c4MchgATAOBJ)                             —     Whitney Houston  
[ _Music of My Heart_](http://open.spotify.com/track/679kEY6AiqHRbKjsX7zhZN)                                      —     Gloria Estefan, N’SYNC  
[ _The Way You Look Tonight_](http://open.spotify.com/track/4YGlRLe6TeBRiXFByBqldf)                        —     Michael Bublé  
[ _The Chicken Dance_ ](http://open.spotify.com/track/3DkJCQymI2SLlvDrbrQGvZ)                                   —     Original Oktoberfest Band

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can see buckeyegrrl's terrific cover on her Live Journal page at http://buckeyegrrl.livejournal.com/5497.html or you can download the high res version on MediaFire at http://www.mediafire.com/view/3tnujo99b7do8nb/FatherOfTheGroom_FINAL_HiRES.jpg


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